


Too Many Fish

by thechandrian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Enjolras, Camping, Crack, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechandrian/pseuds/thechandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaos ensues as Enjolras attempts to drive the amis on a road trip to their next rally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made. I don't own Les Mis.

“Citizens,” Enjolras addressed the amis who were gathered at the Café Musain for an early morning meeting before their classes started. “As you know, in three days the protest at Lyon is taking place, and I expect you all to be there.”

Enjolras’s speech was interrupted by a snore coming from the back table, where Grantaire had apparently fallen asleep. Bossuet nudged him inconspicuously, causing him to fly awake, looking around like he was under attack. Enjolras scoffed.

“I can’t go,” Courfeyrac said, resentful and half-asleep. “My car is broken.”

“Your car is _broken_?” Enjolras asked in disbelief. He was apparently the only one fully awake, seeming more manic than usual. “We’ve been planning to attend this protest for months and your car just happens to be _broken_?”

“Just to spite you, Apollo,” Grantaire called from the back, his head still resting on the table.

“I let Marius borrow my car,” Courfeyrac said.

“Oh,” Enjolras said, without needing further explanation. Marius was well known in the group for being a walking accident. “I see Marius didn’t bother to attend this meeting.”

“He’s in a park looking for Cosette,” Courfeyrac explained.

“Of course,” Enjolras said, in a dismissive tone. “Well, then, I’ll give you a ride, Courfeyrac.”

“I need a ride, too,” Grantaire murmured.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Just take the train.”

“What?” Grantaire raised his head from the table, looking offended. “Courfeyrac gets a ride and I have to take the train? Apollo, people are going to think you’re not treating all of your followers equally.”

“You’re not my _followers_ ,” Enjolras said, exasperated. “And stop calling me Apollo.”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac said, as though he had a brilliant plan. Enjolras was immediately nervous. “I have a great idea.”

“Go on,” Combeferre encouraged, since Enjolras didn’t seem to be in the mood.

“We can make it a road trip. We’ll all pile into Enjolras’s car and drive across country. It’ll be fun. A bonding experience.”

“I’m game,” Grantaire said, looking around the room for wine.

“No.” Enjolras crumbled the pamphlet that he was holding in his hand and looked horrified upon noticing what he’d done. “No. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Why on earth not?” Courfeyrac asked, looking ready to pack his bags and get into Enjolras’s car right that second. “That way we’ll make sure no one gets lost.”

“Who’s going to get lost? It’s only an hour away!” Enjolras was even more exasperated, his face flushed.

“Lyon is at least four hours away,” Courfeyrac reasoned, amused. “And as for who’s going to get lost…Marius. Probably Grantaire. Joly and Bossuet, if left to their own devices. In fact, we’re the only ones who won’t get lost because you’ll be navigating.”

“I don’t navigate,” Enjolras countered, hopelessly.

“I have a GPS on my phone.” Combeferre was holding his newly purchased iPhone in his hands.

Enjolras looked betrayed by both Combeferre and his phone.

“Then it’s settled,” Courfeyrac said, pleased with himself. He gathered his bag and left the café in a hurry, obviously late for class. Enjolras sat at one of the tables and did his best to smooth out the pamphlet that he’d crumbled in a moment of frustration. He thought about taking a road trip with the group. It would certainly end in disaster. For one, Enjolras didn’t actually have his license, but couldn’t admit it to the group for two reasons. One, he was the leader and needed to appear strong and put together. And two, because he knew that if he admitted it, someone else would have to drive and Enjolras had far too many control issues to allow that to happen.

After organizing the pamphlets and gathering his things together, Enjolras realized that, besides himself, Grantaire was the only one left in the café. His eyes were glazed over as he stared at some fixed spot on the table. Enjolras marched up to him and coughed, hoping to get his attention.

“Not going to class?” he asked, putting on his snobbiest voice. He knew that Grantaire despised him and his ideas and only came to the meetings to put him down, so he always did his best to pretend that didn’t bother him and that he couldn’t care less about Grantaire or his opinions. In reality, however, he thought that Grantaire was really cool and artsy and witty and funny and so intelligent and the fact that his nickname was a pun made Enjolras want to melt into a puddle in the corner of the Musain. Enjolras fucking loved puns.

“I don’t have class today, Apollo,” Grantaire muttered, without looking up. He actually looked incredibly depressed, like he was going to start crying. Enjolras really, really hoped he wouldn’t.

He also knew that Grantaire was lying, because he had a history class every Wednesday at exactly 9 AM. Obviously Enjolras didn’t have Grantaire’s schedule memorized or anything, he’d just overheard him talking once.

“No history today?” Enjolras asked, trying to sound casual. But his voice was way too loud and eager. It made him cringe.

Grantaire looked up, surprised. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“You memorized my schedule?”

Enjolras was blushing and fought the urge to run.

“No,” Enjolras said, once again too loudly and with too much conviction.

“Excited to drive all of us four hours?” Grantaire asked, with a small smirk. Enjolras found it both adorable and incredibly annoying.

“Of course I’m not,” Enjolras said, “but I’ll do what I need to for the sake of attending the rally.”

“Sure,” Grantaire muttered, looking back down at the table. “I’m sure this rally will be just as successful as the last ones we’ve attended.”

“Excuse me?” Enjolras fought the urge to slam his hands down on the table if only to get Grantaire to look back up at him.

“You heard me. We’ll say a few words, pass out a few pamphlets, the police will come, break it up, and we’ll have accomplished nothing except putting everyone in danger.”

Enjolras couldn’t stand Grantaire sometimes. What would it take to make him believe that change was possible? He thought about a four hour car ride listening to Grantaire talking about all of the reasons the rally was pointless and wondered how one earth he was going to stop himself from driving them off of a cliff.

“If you think it’s so pointless, no one is making you come,” Enjolras said in his harshest tone.

“Maybe I won’t.” Grantaire sounded so small and pathetically sad and so unlike himself that Enjolras couldn’t even feel angry.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked. He wanted to sound gentle and caring but only succeeded in sounding annoyed and impatient. No wonder Grantaire hated him.

“No, nothing,” Grantaire said, in a louder voice, looking up at Enjolras and offering him the fakest smile Enjolras had ever seen in his life. “I should go.”

He gathered his bag and left the café before Enjolras could say another word. 


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras spent the next three days mentally preparing for both the rally and, of course, the road trip that he’d gotten roped into. It didn’t help that Courfeyrac was obscenely excited about the whole thing. He’d marked off places along the way that they could stop at, and different sights they could see, and actually bought a map of France for the sole purpose of planning this trip.

It was the morning of the road trip, and Enjolras and Combeferre had been up the entire night writing out pamphlets and printing them for the rally.

“Oh my god.” Enjolras was staring down at one of the pamphlets. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

“What is it?” Combeferre asked, hurrying over.

“We’ve misspelled the word ‘patriarchy’. Oh my god. Look! The I and A are switched. What can we do? We have to reprint them.”

Combeferre knew that Enjolras was prone to freaking out about the smallest details, even if it was usually behind closed doors.

“Enjolras, it’ll be fine. No one will notice, and it won’t distract from the message that we’re trying to send. Plus, we have no time to reprint. Everyone is going to be here soon.”

“How’re they getting here if they don’t have cars?” Enjolras asked, bitterly, still staring down at the pamphlet like it was his arch enemy.

“Joly has a car. So does Bossuet. I think the point was that we’d be going all together.”

As if on cue, there was a series of honks from outside indicating that the amis had arrived at Enjolras’s house. Enjolras sullenly gathered the pamphlets and placed them into a bag, before dragging that, along with his belongings, out to the car.

Enjolras owned three different cars, because his parents were obscenely wealthy and thought that they could buy his love with vehicles. Among them was a van that could seat at least eight people comfortably. Of course, there were ten people in attendance.

“Listen,” Enjolras addressed the group. Courfeyrac was in the front, his map pulled out before him. “There isn’t enough room. Someone is going to have to sit on top of someone else, or this won’t work.”

He hadn’t been serious but Joly and Bossuet volunteered anyway.

“Shot gun!” Grantaire called out from behind the crowd, throwing his bag into the back and getting into the passenger’s side seat before Enjolras could object. He seemed in much better spirits than the last time they’d talked.

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, who simply shrugged before grabbing his things and joining Grantaire in the car, taking the seat directly behind the driver’s. Enjolras felt as though he were walking to his death as he descended the driveway and opened the door to his car. The amis all piled in and started talking in their loudest voices. The first row consisted of Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre, and the second of Bossuet, with Joly in his lap, Jean Prouvaire, and Feuilly.

Courfeyrac reached between Enjolras and Grantaire and attempted to spread his over-sized map on the dashboard.

“As you can see, the first place I thought we could stop at is—”

“Courfeyrac, there’s no room for this map,” Enjolras said, hands gripping the steering wheel. He hadn’t even started the car yet and already felt like giving up.

“What’re you doing with a map anyway, Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asked. He somehow managed to sound curious rather than judgmental, something Enjolras always admired, and envied, in him. “You should think about investing in a smart phone.”

“I did,” Courfeyrac explained, “but then I let Marius borrow it.”

“Oh,” Combeferre said, dropping the conversation.

“Sounds like you should stop letting Marius borrow your things,” Enjolras remarked, before noticing that the man in question was, in fact, missing. He started the car, hoping that no one would notice.

“Wait,” Joly said, and Enjolras slammed on the breaks, causing all the amis to jolt forward and Grantaire to spill cheetos everywhere. Enjolras hadn’t even realized he’d been eating them. “Marius isn’t here yet.”

“Oh.” Enjolras wished he’d made a break for it when he had the chance. “Someone should call him and ask where he is.”

“I will.” Courfeyrac reached into his pocket before sighing dramatically. “Damn, I forgot Marius borrowed my phone.”

Enjolras dropped his head onto the steering wheel in exasperation causing the horn to beep and all the amis to scream. This time, Grantaire’s bag of cheetos went flying out of his hands landing all over Courfeyrac’s map.

“Are you sure you know how to drive, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, laughing. He grabbed a cheeto off of the map and ate it.

“Of course I do,” Enjolras said nervously, hoping Grantaire wouldn’t randomly ask to see his license.

“I’ll call him,” Combeferre offered, calmly, taking out his iPhone and scrolling through his contacts. Before Combeferre, who had so many friends, could reach the Ms, Marius rolled up in just about the fanciest car that Enjolras had ever seen.

“Bourgeois,” Enjolras muttered, causing Grantaire to laugh. Enjolras glared at him, but he continued. Grantaire always seemed to think it was hilarious whenever Enjolras called anyone a bourgeois.

Marius parked the car in Enjolras’s driveway, next to Joly’s and Combeferre’s, and knocked on the window. Enjolras reluctantly unlocked the car, allowing Marius to jump into the back area where there weren’t any actual seats. Enjolras’s car was a serious safety hazard.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marius said, as Enjolras started the car angrily. “I wanted to say goodbye to Cosette before I left, but she wasn’t home. I ended up writing her a poem and leaving it in the garden.”

“I love poetry!” Grantaire called. Of course, Grantaire would want to have a conversation with someone two rows behind him.

“I wished you could have helped me write it, Grantaire,” Marius shouted over Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel who were loudly discussing a night they’d gotten wasted and made bad decisions. “I couldn’t think of a rhyme for ‘heart’.”

“Let’s put on some music,” Jean Prouvaire, who’d been sitting quietly and reading a book, suggested.

“Fine,” Enjolras said, reaching over to turn on the radio. Of course, Grantaire reached over at the same time and their fingers brushed, causing Enjolras to jerk back and accidentally drive into the wrong lane. Thankfully, there were no cars coming. Grantaire really shouldn’t be sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“Sorry, Apollo.” Grantaire sounded way too amused.

“Whatever,” Enjolras said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road and his voice monotone.

Grantaire turned on the radio, which was tuned to Enjolras’s favorite channel – the classical station.

“Perfect,” Prouvaire said, going back to reading his book, not even distracted by the fact that he was constantly being jostled by Joly, who was sitting on Bossuet’s lap, and Bahorel’s reenactment of a fight that Bahorel had apparently gotten into.

Courfeyrac took his map, which had fallen from the dashboard, and began to plot more points on it, referencing Combeferre’s smartphone and eating the occasional fallen cheeto.

Everything was going well until Bahorel, Joly, and Bossuet’s loud conversation came to a halt and the only sound was classical tunes and Grantaire’s chewing.

“What on earth are we listening to?” Bossuet asked.

“Are you serious?” Grantaire turned all the way around. His bag of cheetos was empty now and he tossed it onto the ground. “Classical music is great.”

Enjolras turned to look at him with wide eyes, resisting the urge to ask if he was serious but too afraid of hearing the awe in his voice.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, laughing, and with far too much implication.

Enjolras scoffed and turned away to hide his blush.

“Well, put on the Top 40 or something,” Bahorel said. “We want to get pumped not fall asleep.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind taking a nap,” Marius said, from his seat of exile in the back. “I didn’t get much last night.”

Without giving a thought to Marius, Bahorel reached over and attempted to change the radio station, effectively crushing Courfeyrac and his map.

“Whoa, watch it.” Courfeyrac pulled his map away and elbowed Combeferre in the face, knocking his glasses off.

“I’ll change the radio station, alright?” Enjolras said, not wanting any of the amis to show up to the rally with black eyes.

He turned the knob to a popular radio station. The song playing was “I Knew You Were Trouble” by Taylor Swift.

To his surprise and utter frustration, Grantaire knew all the words and wasn’t hesitant to sing it aloud and directly to Enjolras.

Enjolras made sure to scowl appropriately and act like this was the most annoying thing that ever happened to him when in reality he felt so happy he could die.


	3. Chapter 3

 After about an hour of driving, Enjolras somehow managed to get terribly lost.

“I told you we should have used the GPS,” Combeferre said, without sounding condescending in any way. Besides Combeferre, Grantaire, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac, the rest of the amis were asleep, snoring loudly and drooling on each other.

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said, still driving along the road in the middle of nowhere. There hadn’t been a sign in miles. “What does the map say?”

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, looking up from Combeferre’s phone. He was playing Candy Crush.

“What does the map say!” Enjolras shrieked, incredibly close to losing his temper.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what road we’re on!” Courfeyrac answered, defensively, losing the game. Combeferre snatched the phone away, turning his GPS on.

“Just ask for directions, Apollo,” Grantaire offered.

“Okay, good idea, Grantaire.” Enjolras took his hands from the wheel and balled them in his hair. “Great idea. I’ll just ask all of the people around. Because it’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere or anything. I’ll just ask that tree.”

“Jesus, Enjolras, put your hands on the wheel,” Courfeyrac said, realizing that a sleep-deprived, stressed out Enjolras really shouldn’t be driving a vehicle.

Grantaire looked a little hurt at Enjolras’s random outburst, but quickly recovered himself.

“Just keep driving on this road, eventually we’ll find a gas station or something,” he said, gently.

Enjolras looked over at him and tried for a smile. He did feel guilty about lashing out at Grantaire. More than often Grantaire deserved it, but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Since when’re you an optimist?” he muttered, bloodshot eyes focusing back on the road.

Grantaire laughed softly, taking a bottle of wine from his bag.

“Are you serious? You can’t just drink that,” Enjolras said, all tenderness for Grantaire flying out the window. It was amazing how he could love Grantaire one second and hate him the next. He didn’t even know he was capable of such drastic emotions.

“Why? I’m not driving,” Grantaire said.

“You’re going to get us arrested!” Enjolras’s voice was once again reaching hysterics.

“Good.” Grantaire took a long swig from the bottle. “We can ask the cops for directions.”

“I swear to god, Grantaire—”

“Enough, you two,” Courfeyrac said, bringing his hands to his face. “Let’s just find civilization before you murder each other.”

Enjolras and Grantaire pointedly ignored each other the rest of the way, as Combeferre used his iPhone to find the nearest gas station. Of course, it was sketchy as fuck and probably either deserted or occupied by cannibals.

“I’ll go ask for directions.” Enjolras parked and hopped out, eager to get the hell out of the car. The rest of the amis were still snoozing. Grantaire immediately exited the car and ran to Enjolras’s side.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.

“Getting snacks, of course,” Grantaire said, with a smug smile. Enjolras rolled his eyes. The only snacks this place sold were left over from the original French Revolution.

The rest stop building looked ready to collapse at any moment, and Enjolras knocked hesitantly on the door before heading in.

“Careful,” Grantaire said. Enjolras turned to him and shot an irritated look.

“These old buildings are dangerous, Apollo.” Grantaire followed Enjolras into the dusty, decrepit structure.

“Call me Apollo one more time and see what happens,” Enjolras muttered, his voice echoing throughout the store.

Grantaire had seen enough horror films to know that at any moment a man with a chainsaw was going to come out of the darkness and attack them, or they’d stumble upon some bloody knives or disembodied heads or something. He wanted to get Enjolras the hell out of there.

“Hey guys!” Courfeyrac called loudly, causing Enjolras to scream and practically jump into Grantaire’s arms, who’d instantly flown at Enjolras upon hearing the sudden shout. “The gas pump still works, so we can fill up. Probably for free since no one seems to be around.”

Enjolras, upon realizing what was going on, quickly hurried from Grantaire’s arms, looking at the ground to hide the fact that he was blushing like crazy. Grantaire folded his arms trying to look nonchalant about the whole thing. They both ran from the creepy building without saying a word.

“Anyone inside?” Courfeyrac said, attaching the pump to Enjolras’s car.

“No,” Enjolras answered. All of a sudden, a corpse-like man appeared from the shadows, looking as though he’d just crawled out of a grave and hadn’t bothered to shower.

Grantaire jumped back, glancing to Enjolras who, instead of being frightened, simply looked concerned. He was probably going to ask for the man’s life story and whether or not he believed in equal rights for all citizens.

“Are you guys planning on paying for that?” the man asked in a raspy voice. “You think you can just steal whatever you want? You think that’s the way the world works? You just take whatever you want and give nothing back?”

“Sir,” Enjolras said, going into speech-mode. “We definitely didn’t intend to take the gas for free. You were nowhere to be found and—”

“Listen! When I was your age, I stole! I thought it was okay!”

Enjolras noticed now that the man bore a tattoo on his collarbone, the numbers: 24601.

By now the rest of the amis were waking up and peering out the windows to see what the racket was about, and why exactly they’d stopped moving.

“You kids are young!” the man was still going on and on. “You’re lucky, you can still change and become good people! You don’t need to live these lives of crime!”

“We don’t commit crime,” Grantaire interrupted, wishing he’d brought his wine bottle from the car.

“Don’t interrupt,” Enjolras said. Grantaire rolled his eyes. Enjolras was simply impossible.

“Father!” a voice shouted from behind them. Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre turned around to see Marius emerging from his place of exile in the car. He was staring at the mysterious man.

“Marius, that man is not your father,” Courfeyrac said. “Go back inside the car.”

“Father!” Marius repeated. “I mean, you’re not my father, but…”

“Get on with it, boy!” the man snapped, causing everyone to jump and take a step back.

“I’m in love with a girl called Cosette,” Marius began, and there was a collective groan amongst the amis. Even strangers weren’t safe from stories about Marius’s love affair.

“And she told me that her father bore a tattoo with a series of numbers. I think they were, uh, two…let’s see…four….no, that’s not right…”

“Two, four, six, zero, one?” Enjolras asked in a monotone voice, judgmental as hell.

“That’s right!” Marius said. “How did you know?”

“Because I read his damn tattoo,” Enjolras said, losing his temper.

“Well, you’re right. Could it be? Could you be Cosette’s long lost father, Jean Valjean?” Marius looked ready to give the man a hug.

The man in question, however, paled at the name, and took a step back, no longer looking so concerned about the gas.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he responded, “don’t come around here making accusations like that.”

“Accusations like _what_?” Courfeyrac said, and, without waiting for a response, nudged Combeferre and said, “listen, can I borrow your phone?”

Combeferre sent him a sharp look and put his phone into his pocket.

“Accusations like I have a daughter! I certainly don’t!”

“But is your name Jean Valjean or not?” Marius asked.

“It is,” he admitted. “Now, listen, I’m going to give you boys a bit of advice.”

Enjolras tried to discreetly look at his watch, probably nervous about being late for the rally, but Grantaire noticed and held back a laugh.

“You have somewhere to be?” Jean Valjean snapped, noticing Enjolras staring at his watch.

“Actually, since you mention it, yes,” Enjolras responded. His voice had an unusual harshness to it that the amis attributed to a lack of sleep and general anxiety about the upcoming rally. “We’re attending a rally in Lyon.”

“A worthy cause! I remember when I was involved in a sort of rally,” Jean Valjean reminisced, staring into the horizon. “Actually, it’d be fair to say it was more of a revolution.”

“A revolution? Which one? When?” Suddenly Enjolras was no longer in such a hurry. Grantaire glanced back at the car and saw the rest of the amis peering out, not sure whether or not it was worth it to join them.

“1832,” Jean Valjean answered. “The June Rebellion.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Enjolras asked, and Combeferre immediately stepped forward, deciding that this nonsense had gone on long enough.

“Sir, how much for the gas?”

“20 francs,” Jean Valjean responded.

Combeferre tried to humor the man with a smile, probably thinking he was senile or something and said, “how much, really?”

Suddenly, a cold wind blew through the gas station, bringing in a thick grey fog. When the fog cleared, the man was gone.

“Okay,” Grantaire said, taking a step closer to Enjolras. There was still a chill in the air despite it being spring. “Maybe we should go.”

“Do you want me to drive, Enjolras?” Combeferre offered. “You seem sort of tired.”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras said, and they all gathered back into the car.


	4. Chapter 4

They’d been driving for about a half hour in utter silence when Enjolras said,

“Are we really going to act like it’s not strange that man disappeared into thin air?”

“Well, he was a ghost,” Marius called from the back of the car. “Didn’t you hear him say he was around during 1832?”

Enjolras sighed heavily and ignored Marius, effectively dropping the entire conversation. A few more minutes passed when Grantaire said,

“Apollo, you spelled ‘patriarchy’ wrong.” He was holding one of the pamphlets they’d printed that morning.

Enjolras snatched it out of his hand, rolled down the window, and threw the pamphlet out.

“Get out and walk,” he said, without pulling over. That typo really was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

All of a sudden there was an ominous crack of thunder, followed by a heavy downpour.

“I love the rain,” Jean Prouvaire remarked, writing in a small notebook. “It inspires me to write poetry.”

“Me too,” Grantaire agreed, turning around. “I think I might just write something right now.”

Before Grantaire could burst into a fit of poetic eloquence, Combeferre’s phone began to ring.

“Excuse me,” Combeferre said, as though he were in the middle of a conversation. It was nearly impossible to hear anyone over the roar of the rain.

Everyone ignored Combeferre as he continued to talk to whoever was on the other line. Grantaire was busy reciting a poem about a beautiful man called Apollo who struck down wrong-doers with lightning and was admired by all. Enjolras side-eyed him the entire time and pretended not to hear.

Finally, Combeferre hung up the phone.

“Was that your girlfriend?” Courfeyrac asked, even though Combeferre didn’t have a girlfriend.

“It was Eponine,” Combeferre explained. “She’s in Lyon already and said that the rally has been rescheduled until tomorrow because of the rain.”

Enjolras abruptly let out a rather hysterical shriek, causing Grantaire to stop reciting poetry and instead look scared for his life.

“Who cancels a rally because of _rain_?” he asked, his voice reaching an incredible octave. “What do they think? That the oppressed can just wait around until the weather is more convenient? Do they think revolutionaries are afraid of rain? Well! What do they think!”

“Apparently the rain is pretty bad, Apollo,” Grantaire remarked, “we’re still two hours outside Lyon at least.”

“Oh, suddenly you know where we are,” Enjolras snapped.

“Maybe we should pull over and find a hotel or something,” Prouvaire suggested. The incessant arguing was really killing his creative vibes.

“No,” Enjolras said, “we’re going to the rally.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said in a reasonable tone, “the rally is cancelled. There’s no point in showing up, and the rain is really coming down hard.”

It was obvious that Combeferre was also worried about Enjolras nearing hysterics. He took out his phone and searched for hotels. Of course, he had the French equivalent of Verizon 3G so it was brutally slow.

“What’s the nearest hotel?” Prouvaire asked, leaning over to look at Combeferre’s phone.

“The page is loading,” Combeferre explained, without sounding impatient even though the rain was really fucking up the coverage.

Suddenly Enjolras began to speak,

“ _Well hurry up, Combeferre, I’m almost out of wine._ ”

Grantaire looked up and saw that Enjolras was still staring straight ahead, the road barely visible despite the wind-shield wipers going so fast they looked about to fly off.

“What?” Grantaire said. Enjolras ignored him.

“ _Grantaire, the phone can only go so fast. Unless I’m using it to play Candy Crush.”_

“ _Oh, okay, well listen, Apollo, maybe if you hadn’t misspelled the entire pamphlet we wouldn’t be in this mess.”_

 _“Guys, I’m in love with a girl named Cosette, I love her almost as much as I love interrupting meetings with pointless romantic stories–_ ”

 _“_ Oh my god, what is happening?” Courfeyrac said, interrupting Enjolras’s conversation with himself.

“He’s just tired,” Combeferre explained, but even his calm façade looked a little forced.

“A little tired?” Grantaire said. “He’s having a one-man meeting of the Les Amis.”

“I don’t even sound like that!” Marius called. No one was really sure how he even heard. His shout woke up Bossuet and Joly, who were napping in a rather promiscuous position.

“What’s going on!” Joly asked nervously.

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac said, turning around, “the rally was postponed. We’re looking for a hotel. Enjolras is losing his mind.”

“Shall I massage your shoulders, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, suddenly. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged glances. Grantaire’s crush wasn’t a secret to anyone but Enjolras, and they knew that Grantaire had probably been working himself up for several minutes just to ask that simple question. They hurriedly glanced away so as not to look suspicious – Courfeyrac out the window, Combeferre down to the loading screen on his phone.

“What?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire and raised an eyebrow.

“It might help.” Grantaire was blushing such a deep red that the amis who were paying attention suffered from an unavoidable case of contact embarrassment.

“If you must,” Enjolras said, finally. Grantaire reached over hesitantly, and gently put his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders, squeezing them. Enjolras relaxed into the touch, and Grantaire couldn’t believe that this was actually happening.

“The nearest hotel is about five minutes away,” Combeferre said, happy for some good news at last. “How convenient.”

“It’ll probably be full,” Enjolras muttered under his breath.

“So cynical,” Grantaire said, still massaging Enjolras’s shoulders.

Combeferre had turned on his GPS and the phone led them quickly to the sketchiest motel in the country of France – which luckily (or unluckily) had a bright red, flashing sign reading: VACANCY. 


	5. Chapter 5

After Enjolras parked the car, somehow managing to take up three spots instead of one, the amis gathered their belongings and dashed into the lobby of the motel. They were soaked by the time they finally managed to get in, because the door was locked and the owner was in no hurry to come down and let them in.

The owner of the motel was an incredibly fabulous young man around the age of the amis. His mid-length dark hair was pulled to one side, and hidden under a fancy hat. He had on a rather posh, colorful suit, looking out of place amongst the drab motel decorations, which looked like they’d been left over from some horror movie set. This was becoming an ominous theme for the road trip.

“Hello,” Combeferre greeted. “We’d like to check in. There are ten of us.”

“Do you have a reservation?” the man asked. He was chewing the end of a pencil rather seductively.

“Uh, no.” Combeferre looked lost.

“Listen,” Enjolras said, eyes red and hair wet from the rain. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “We just drove three hours and for what?”

“I don’t know,” the man responded. “Nice coat, by the way.”

Enjolras was wearing a red peacoat and, yes, he looked adorable.

“Well, thank you,” Enjolras said, surprised.

“My name is Montparnasse,” he introduced, batting his long, dark eyelashes.

Of course, every stranger always felt the need to flirt with Enjolras. Grantaire took a gratuitous swig of wine.

“Enjolras,” he introduced. “I like your….um, your hat.”

“You could borrow it sometime,” Montparnasse responded, with a wink.

“Okay, anyway,” Courfeyrac interrupted loudly, realizing that if this went on any longer Grantaire would drink himself into a coma and the rest of the amis would catch pneumonia from standing around in their wet clothes. “Rooms?”

“Certainly,” Montparnasse said, glancing down at a notebook on the table. “There are only two rooms left. Looks like you’ll have to double up.”

Joly and Bossuet immediately agreed to share a bed, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Not even Montparnasse’s, and he didn’t even know them.

“That’s fine,” Combeferre said. “We’ll take them.”

Montparnasse gave them the keys, both him and Enjolras blushing as their fingers touched.

“Have a nice night, Enjolras,” he called after them, as they walked back into the rain and down the path to their rooms.

“What a creep,” Grantaire muttered.

No one decided to touch that.

The rain was still coming down hard and the amis frantically grabbed the keys from Enjolras and darted into the first room. Of course, Grantaire was too busy sulking to get on a room, and ended up alone with Enjolras, Joly, Bossuet, and Jean Prouvaire.

He wondered how on earth Enjolras had allowed himself to be separated from Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Entering the room, Enjolras immediately threw down his bag and headed into the shower without a word to anyone. Grantaire knew that he was probably incredibly tired and pissed off about the protest, and wished he could do something to help. He wished he was attractive and suave and flirtatious like Montparnasse, maybe then he could make Enjolras blush or smile.

“This is our bed,” Joly called, “I need to be next to the window for fresh air.”

Jean Prouvaire gathered two of the chairs together and began to create a makeshift bed.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked.

“Well, I figured you’d want to share that bed with Enjolras,” Prouvaire said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Grantaire blushed a deep red.

“Why would I…why would you think…” he stuttered.

“Grantaire, everyone knows you like him,” Bossuet said, impatiently. “Now’s your chance to cuddle.”

“Please,” Grantaire said, struggling to turn this whole thing into a joke. He knew he was obvious, but come on. “Enjolras doesn’t exactly seem like the cuddling type.”

“Enjolras is very much a cuddling type,” Prouvaire said, wisely, sinking into his “bed”. “He has a very sensitive soul.”

“So true,” Joly agreed.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Of course he knew that Enjolras was sensitive. That still didn’t mean he’d want to cuddle with someone like Grantaire.

The water shut off a few moments later and Enjolras emerged from the shower, a cloud of steam in his wake. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to get dressed and had only a towel draped carelessly around him. Grantaire averted his eyes and swore the room increased ten degrees.

“I’m next,” Joly said, getting up from his and Bossuet’s bed and darting past Enjolras into the shower. Enjolras immediately flopped onto the bed, seemingly unconcerned for the delicate nature of his towel, and covered his face with his hands. He looked utterly beat.

Grantaire was hovering by the window, heart beating a mile a minute.

“Uh,” Bossuet began awkwardly, “I’m going to go see if there’s a vending machine around here. I’m kind of thirsty.”

“I have wine,” Grantaire offered.

“Yeah, something not alcoholic,” Bossuet said.

“I’ll join you,” Prouvaire said, grabbing an umbrella from his bag. They both ran like hell out the door, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras alone.

Grantaire certainly knew a set up when he saw one.

Enjolras sat up, his wet curls sticking to his face. He looked absolutely breath-taking.

“Sorry about the rally,” Grantaire offered weakly, gripping onto his wine bottle like a life-raft.

Enjolras looked over as though only just noticing he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sure you’re torn up about it,” Enjolras said, too tired to achieve his ordinary level of disdain.

“I’m torn apart, Apollo.” Grantaire took a hesitant step towards the bed that he and Enjolras would apparently be sharing. A fact which Enjolras surely hadn’t yet realized.

“Grantaire—” Enjolras began, but was interrupted as pounding bass music began emanating from the neighboring room – the one that all the other amis were currently occupying.

The song was, appropriately, “Get Low”.

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile.

“Sounds like they’re getting pumped for revolution,” he smirked.

He was trying to make a joke to cheer up Enjolras, but his words had the opposite effect. In fact, Enjolras just looked helplessly lost.

“This whole trip was pointless.” He was looking down, the water dripping from his hair and onto the floor. “No one really wanted to go to the rally.”

“Sure they did,” Grantaire said, quickly. He’d never seen Enjolras look so utterly distressed and began to panic. He sat next to him on the bed and was immediately overwhelmed by their close proximity, the heat from the shower still clinging to Enjolras’s skin. He broke into a sweat. “They did want to go to the rally, Apollo. They’re just making the best of the situation.”

Grantaire was certain that his words would have more effect if he wasn’t essentially shouting over _to the window, to the wall._

“Maybe you’re right.” Enjolras turned to face Grantaire. “This is why you came, right?”

“What?” Grantaire stuttered. Surely Enjolras didn’t think Grantaire came along solely for the off-chance that they’d be sharing a bed, there’s no way he’d know—

“To be around friends and everything,” Enjolras clarified. Grantaire felt slightly faint.

“Right,” Grantaire managed to get out.

“And yet, for some reason, they left you alone with me.” Enjolras began to squeeze the water from his hair. “Some friends.”

“I like being around you,” Grantaire said, and, god, that was the understatement of the year.

“Sure,” Enjolras said, sounding unconvinced, before sighing deeply. “I can’t believe there’s a typo in the pamphlets.”

Before Grantaire could offer some sort of quip about no one noticing either way, there was a loud knocking on the door.

“Come in!” Grantaire called, not eager to leave his place by Enjolras’s side.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre barged in a moment later, the music still pumping loudly from the neighboring room.

“Oh,” Combeferre said, catching sight of Enjolras. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were half-dressed.”

“Sorry, Grantaire.” Courfeyrac was holding in a laugh.

Both Grantaire and Enjolras blushed an obnoxious shade of pink.

“Just give me a minute,” Enjolras said, gathering clothes from his bag and dashing into the bathroom.

“Joly is in there—” Grantaire called, but it was too late. Enjolras had slammed the door behind him, apparently not concerned with Joly.

Once Enjolras was out of sight, Courfeyrac wasted no time freaking out.

“Well, well, Grantaire!” Courfeyrac jumped onto the bed, almost knocking Grantaire off. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing.” Grantaire was still blushing. He wanted to be ten times more intoxicated than he currently was.

“Nothing?” Courfeyrac said, smirking. “Just a casual chat with a half-naked Enjolras?”

“Anyway.” Combeferre pushed up his glasses and took a seat at a small table stuffed into the corner of the motel room. “We didn’t come in here to make Grantaire feel uncomfortable, did we?”

“We didn’t?” Courfeyrac asked. He pulled the map, which he’d managed to fold into a more portable size, out of his pocket.

“No,” Combeferre sighed. “We need to plot the rest of our trip into my GPS so we don’t end up lost again. If we miss the rally, I’m afraid Enjolras will drive us off of a cliff in despair.”

Grantaire and Courfeyrac chuckled, thinking that it was a joke. But Combeferre wasn’t laughing.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, coughing.

Enjolras emerged from the bathroom. Somehow he managed to look even sexier than when he was half-naked. He wore loose fitting sweatpants and a v-neck shirt, and his hair was free and wild, falling over his shoulders. Everyone was too busy admiring the sight before them to speak, causing an awkward silence. Enjolras, however, didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on people, and simply sat down once again beside Grantaire.

Grantaire was distantly aware that he was staring, mouth open, at Enjolras, and quickly dropped his gaze. This whole sharing a room thing wasn’t turning out too well.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, in an attempt to pull everyone back to reality. “We’re plotting the rest of the trip here on my phone so that we don’t need to rely on Courfeyrac’s less than convenient map.”

Courfeyrac took a moment to look properly offended, before spreading his over-sized map down on the table in front of Combeferre.

For the next hour, to the tune of Courfeyrac’s raunchy playlist, they plotted the rest of the trip into Combeferre’s GPS. Courfeyrac, of course, insisted that they stop at a few famous diners and sights if there was time, and Enjolras reluctantly agreed – probably hoping that there wouldn’t actually be time.

Finally, Jean Prouvaire and Bossuet returned from their hour-long trip to the vending machine, and everyone decided to turn in for the night. Grantaire, although by now sufficiently drunk, felt close to passing out from nerves.

Jean Prouvaire gathered the chairs back together and laid down, immediately falling asleep.

Bossuet and Joly got into their bed like it was just another night, and began to cuddle.

Enjolras, of course, was on the other bed, all the pamphlets spread out around him. He had a bottle of white-out and was literally rewriting the word ‘patriarchy’ in every pamphlet. Grantaire groaned.

He wandered awkwardly over to the bed and hovered there a moment, taking deep breaths and telling himself not to panic. This didn’t mean anything.

“Do you want to sleep?” Enjolras asked, looking up.

“Uh,” Grantaire stuttered. “No, it’s fine. You can work a little longer.” He paused for a moment before asking. “Want help?”

Enjolras looked surprised at the offer, but nodded, moving over to allow Grantaire room on the bed. He was lying on his stomach and Grantaire joined him in the same position. Enjolras pushed a pile of pamphlets over to him.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, and he really did look grateful.

Grantaire didn’t respond, but instead picked up a pamphlet, all too aware of Enjolras’s arm practically touching his own. He looked down at the pamphlet, trying to read the words, but they were blurring together. He was way too drunk for this.

He took the bottle of white out and paused, trying to find the misspelled word. After several moments, he still couldn’t find it, and he couldn’t make sense of anything. He noticed Enjolras staring at him.

“Uh,” he struggled for something to say.

“You’re tired,” Enjolras said, in a flat, empty voice. “And drunk. It’s fine. Let’s go to sleep.” He unceremoniously gathered all of the pamphlets and threw them in a heap onto the floor. Grantaire felt instantly guilty.

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered. He didn’t want to wake up the rest of the room.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras repeated.

He threw back the covers and got into the bed, facing towards the wall. Grantaire slowly got in beside him, careful to stay to his side and not encroach on Enjolras in any way. It was another several hours before he fell asleep, too nervous about being only a few inches away from a sleeping Enjolras. Plus, if he was being honest, he couldn’t help but steal glances at Enjolras in his sleep. He looked so young and fragile and carefree – he hoped that Enjolras was having pleasant dreams and would feel less stressed in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Grantaire was awoken by a loud, angry shout coming from outside their room. It was Courfeyrac. Opening his eyes, he saw that the room was in disarray – clothes and items everywhere. Enjolras had woken up beside him, his eyes still glazed over with sleep. His hair was sticking up and he had pillow impressions on his face. He looked adorable.

Without knocking, Courfeyrac barged into the room. By now, everyone was awake.

“We’ve been robbed,” Courfeyrac announced to the room at large. No one responded, still half-asleep and unable to comprehend why Courfeyrac was shouting at seven in the morning.

“Robbed?” Enjolras finally managed, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Yes, robbed! Everything! Our money, our phones! Well, Combeferre’s phone - I still don’t have one, thanks to Marius…”

“Calm down,” Enjolras said, getting out of bed. “What’re you saying? Everything’s gone?”

Before Courfeyrac could respond, Combeferre joined him in the doorway.

“My phone was stolen,” he said. He seemed outwardly calm but everyone knew how attached he was to that iPhone. “It was the guy running the front desk. Montparnasse. He left this note for you.”

Combeferre handed Enjolras a note. It was written on motel stationary in purple ink, in the fanciest, most feminine handwriting Enjolras had ever laid eyes on.

It read:

_Dearest Enjolras,_

_Terribly sorry for taking all of your things. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. Think of me, think of me fondly._

_Montparnasse_

Enjolras stared at the note for a minute before looking up at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s flabbergasted expressions. He didn’t know what to do.

“Is the car still here?” he finally asked.

“Yes, thank god,” Courfeyrac said.

“And your pamphlets are still here,” Grantaire commented from the bed. The pamphlets were still in the pile where Enjolras had thrown them. “I’m surprised these weren’t the first to go.”

Enjolras ignored Grantaire and instead surveyed the room, checking for missing items.

“My coat is gone,” Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac exited the room and began to angrily pace the length of the motel.

“Listen,” Combeferre said, “we should probably head off. Montparnasse is long gone, and there’s no point sticking around here. Plus, we don’t have the GPS anymore. We’ll have to use the map.”

It was obvious that this pained Combeferre on a personal level.

The amis gathered what was left of their belongings and piled into the car. No one was in a good mood, except, of course, Marius.

“I had a dream about Cosette last night,” he said.

Before he could say another word, Courfeyrac reached up and turned on the radio. It was the best song ever. Or, rather, “Best Song Ever” by 1D.

It was almost the same as listening to Marius talk, really.

Only Grantaire was able to hear Enjolras softly humming along.

They’d been driving for at least an hour, when Courfeyrac suggested they take a short cut. Everyone was immediately hesitant.

“Believe me,” Courfeyrac said, the map spread across his lap – and Combeferre’s, and Bahorel’s. “This’ll save us at least an hour.”

Enjolras reluctantly agreed, and turned down the dirt road that Courfeyrac suggested. After about a half hour of driving, Enjolras ran over a nail and got a flat tire. Pulling onto the shoulder of the world’s creepiest road, he turned around and glared at Courfeyrac.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac said, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t make you run over that nail.”

The amis trickled out of the car, examining the damage done.

“Sucks,” Grantaire commented, wine in hand. He earned a frown from Enjolras, who was impatiently tapping his foot, ready to flip the car over in anger.

Before any of the amis could offer a suggestion, they heard the sound of tires coming down the road. It was a police car. The officer seemed to notice they were in trouble and pulled over. The amis sighed a breath of relief, believing that they were saved.

However, when the officer emerged from the car, he looked incredibly focused and didn’t spare a glance for their disabled vehicle before pulling a wanted poster out of his pocket.

“You boys see this man?” he asked in a stern voice.

“Let’s see your badge, officer,” Enjolras said, always suspicious of authority figures of any kind.

The officer huffed and dramatically pulled out his badge, shoving it in Enjolras’s face. Enjolras snatched it away and examined it. The man was apparently called Javert.

After deciding that the man was legitimate, Enjolras looked at the wanted poster. It was Jean Valjean, the man from the gas station.

“Well? Have you seen him?”

“What did he do?” Courfeyrac asked, standing next to Enjolras.

“He’s committed many grievous crimes,” Javert explained vaguely.

“That man is a ghost!” Marius said, climbing out of the back of the vehicle and joining the gang. “That man is from the 1800s. We met him at a gas station.”

Javert raised an eyebrow at Marius’s words.

“Which gas station?” Javert asked.

“Officer,” Courfeyrac said, “we have a flat tire. Any chance you could call for help? All of our phones were stolen.”

“Stolen? By who? Jean Valjean?” Javert said, looking all around him in paranoia.

“Uh, no,” Courfeyrac said. “Someone called Montparnasse.”

“Listen, I don’t have time for your struggles,” Javert said, in a dramatically deep voice. “I have to protect France from Jean Valjean, who has eluded me for nearly twenty years.”

“The police force might be put to better use fighting against poverty and inequality,” Enjolras remarked.

Javert looked at Enjolras like he was crazy.

“This your car?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, defensively.

“Let me see your license and registration,” Javert demanded.

Those standing closest to Enjolras noticed how he paled at those words. Of course, no one knew that he didn’t actually have a driver’s license. Enjolras needed to think of a plan – he couldn’t go to jail, he had a rally to attend…

“Enjolras? What’s the problem?” Combeferre asked softly.

“I don’t have my license,” Enjolras whispered, hoping that Javert wouldn’t hear.

Although the officer couldn’t make out the words, he immediately became suspicious by Enjolras’s inability to cooperate.

“Son, am I going to have to take you down to the station?” Javert asked threateningly.

“Officer, this is some kind of misunderstanding…” Combeferre began but was silenced when Javert shot him a deadly glare.

“Let’s just see your identification, then!” he shouted, and even Enjolras was nervous. “What’re you boys doing in the woods, anyway? Burying a body?”

Enjolras knew he couldn’t delay any longer and would have to admit to the officer, and to his friends, that he did not in fact have his driver’s license.

“Javert!” a voice called suddenly from the woods. The amis turned to see none other than Jean Valjean, the wanted criminal and the man from the gas station.

“Jean Valjean!” Javert announced dramatically, and then addressed the group, “I knew you were conspiring with criminals.”

“We weren’t conspiring,” Marius tried, excited to see this man who he so strongly believed was Cosette’s long lost father. “We don’t even know him…”

“Javert, leave these boys alone! They’re simply trying to attend a rally and enact change!” Jean Valjean explained in a powerful voice.

“Please,” Javert said, “I know trouble when I see it.”

“Marius,” Jean Valjean commanded, “take my hand.”

Marius didn’t even hesitate to follow such a random request and grabbed onto the man’s hand. With a loud crack, the group, all but Javert, were transported away from the road.

The amis looked around them in distress, amazed to find that they were located in a deep forest, no life in sight.

“Wow,” Grantaire announced. “Are we in another dimension?”

“We’re about a mile away from the road,” Jean Valjean explained, killing the mood. “I needed to get you all to safety or Javert would certainly have arrested you and followed you around for the rest of your life, as he’s done to me for hundreds of years.”

“How is it that you transported us?” Enjolras asked, suspicious.

“I told you, I’m from the past,” Jean Valjean explained, like it was obvious. “I can move throughout time.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said, “and how do you expect us to go to the rally now?”

“You’ll be safe to come out of the woods in about a day. Here’s some camping gear.” Jean Valjean pulled a tent and a few sleeping bags out of literally nowhere. “Au revoir.” He disappeared into a black cloud.

“He’s so weird,” Courfeyrac said. “Although strangely enough, I actually included camping on the list of things we could do.”

“I love camping,” Prouvaire announced. “It’s a great way to reconnect with nature.”

Enjolras was fuming.

“This is ridiculous, we don’t have time to camp,” he announced, fists balled in rage. “I’m going back to the car.”

“The car with the flat tire, Apollo?” Grantaire asked. “The one with the police officer waiting to arrest you?”

“Grantaire is right,” Combeferre said.

“For once,” Enjolras snapped, and sat down on a rock. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to live off the wild.” Courfeyrac looked way too excited to be camping. “I’ll catch fish and we can make fire by rubbing flint together–”

“I actually have some matches,” Grantaire interrupted.

Courfeyrac looked scandalized. “Well, throw them out! We’re living off the land!”

“Someone should call Eponine and let her know we’ll be late to the rally,” Bahorel suggested.

“Late? We won’t be attending at all! It’s in an hour and we’re stuck here!” Enjolras dropped his head to his knees and tore at his hair. Enjolras in such a state made everyone nervous, as he was normally so composed.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, taking a hesitant step closer.

“Don’t even start,” Enjolras interrupted in a harsh voice. “Don’t even act like you’re upset we’re not going. Don’t even pretend.”

With that, he tore off through the woods, marching angrily.

“Just give him a minute to cool down,” Combeferre said, looking worried.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Prouvaire remarked. He’d found a babbling brook and was reading a book of poems beside it. “He’s usually so put together.”

“It’s been a long day for all of us,” Combeferre said.

“So, who knows how to put up a tent?” Grantaire asked, hoping to distract them from Enjolras. He figured Enjolras would be embarrassed to realize that the amis were worrying about him behind his back, even if they didn’t mean any harm.

“I do,” Marius announced, picking up the tent supplies.

Worried glances were exchanged between the amis.

“Let me help,” Combeferre said, pushing up his glasses and taking one of the poles from Marius. The tent was crumbled between them.

“Have either of you put up a tent before?” Bossuet asked, picking up a leaf and shredding it into a thousand pieces.

“Don’t touch that plant!” Joly said, taking Bossuet’s hand and immediately making him wash it in the babbling brook. “It’s poison ivy.”

“It’s not poison ivy. Look, I’m fine,” Bossuet tried to convince him, but it was hopeless.

“I used to go camping as a child,” Marius said, shoving the pole into the ground weakly.

“But I’m sure you had servants with you,” Grantaire commented. He wished Enjolras was here to scoff and call Marius a bourgeois. He missed Enjolras so much and he’d only been gone for about ten minutes. It was rather cold out and Enjolras didn’t even have his red peacoat.

Grantaire, one of the few amis whose bag hadn’t been stolen – probably because there was nothing of value and nothing fashionable enough for Montparnasse to even consider – took one of his sweatshirts out and set off to find Enjolras.

“Have fun taking a walk with Enjolras in the forest!” Courfeyrac called after him. Grantaire flushed and told Courfeyrac to be quiet.

It took several moments to find Enjolras and when he did, Grantaire felt his breath leave him. Enjolras had, for some reason, decided to climb into a tree, and appeared to be gazing intently at the clouds in the sky. He looked so peaceful, and so beautiful with his golden curls blowing gently in the wind, that Grantaire was hesitant to interrupt. Turns out, there was no need.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, turning his head and looking down. “You followed me?”

“I was worried,” Grantaire said in a small voice. Why were Enjolras’s cheeks so pink? Why were his eyes so blue? Why was nothing fair? “It’s cold out.”

Enjolras eyed the sweatshirt in Grantaire’s hands – it was a dark green like most of Grantaire’s wardrobe and definitely looked like it’d been through hell and back. Grantaire’s face burned with embarrassment. This had seemed like a much better idea back at the camp.

“Join me,” Enjolras said. Grantaire knew right from the start that he was too intoxicated to climb a tree, but couldn’t exactly pass up this chance. He walked slowly up to the tree and tried to look around for a decent branch to grab onto. Of course, the first one that he tried snapped before he even had a chance to try and pull himself up. This was almost as hopeless as Combeferre and Marius trying to pitch a tent.

Enjolras, however, seemed to find the whole thing rather entertaining. He was smiling, which Grantaire considered an achievement. He reached down and said, “take my hand.”

“You can’t possibly lift me,” Grantaire stuttered out, although oh my god did he want to hold Enjolras’s hand.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Watch me.”

Grantaire reached out and entwined his fingers with Enjolras’s. His hand was cold from sitting out in the wind, but he laced his fingers with Grantaire’s and tugged with all his force. Grantaire, at the same time, tried to propel himself upwards, losing his footing and successfully landing on the ground, dragging Enjolras down from the tree and on top of him. He pretty much wanted to die of humiliation at that point.

Enjolras had his face buried somewhere in Grantaire’s chest and hurriedly rolled off of him, looking surprised and not all that sure where he was.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asked, sitting up, blushing like mad. “I told you that wouldn’t work.”

Enjolras scoffed again. “It would have worked if you’d tried harder.”

“I can’t climb trees!” Grantaire said, defensively. He was still clutching the sweatshirt that he’d brought in his hands and tossed it at Enjolras. “Put that on. You don’t want to catch a cold before your precious protest.”

Enjolras took it, trying his best to look angry. He really was quite chilly. He struggled to put it on, however, and had it draped over his face all the while shouting, “oh, you mean the protest that happens to be going on right now? The one we’re missing? That one?”

“For god’s sake, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, reaching over to pull on the sweatshirt. “They’ll be other protests.”

Now that Enjolras was finally wearing Grantaire’s over-sized sweatshirt, he could focus on nothing else except how adorable the blonde looked.

“And meanwhile, we’re stranded in the middle of the woods,” Enjolras said, pouting. He looked so cute when he was grumpy.

“Marius and Combeferre are putting together a tent,” Grantaire said, “and Courfeyrac is going to catch fish.”

“Marius and Combeferre are pitching the tent?” Enjolras looked horrified at the idea.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, laughing a little at Enjolras’s expression. “Shall we go back and help them?”

“Sure.” Enjolras reluctantly stood up, brushing the leaves and dirt from his pants. He ran a hand through his curls nervously and added, “thank you, Grantaire.”

“Any time, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, and they walked back to the campsite together.


	7. Chapter 7

They were greeted on their return to the campsite by a one-man chorus of coos from Courfeyrac. They tried their best to look annoyed, but Enjolras could hardly even manage to scoff when he was so cozy in Grantaire’s sweatshirt. He felt protected and warm and safe, and wished he had the courage to hold Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire would probably laugh at him if he tried. In fact, Enjolras was surprised that Grantaire hadn’t decided yet to rub it in his face just how badly this trip had gone.

“Have fun, you two?” Courfeyrac asked, winking.

“Shut up.” Grantaire immediately went over to his bag to grab a bottle of wine. It was the only one left, so he really had to make it last.

He noticed then that the tent was actually upright and didn’t look about to collapse.

“Marius and Combeferre did that?” Enjolras was eyeing the tent with skepticism. He was practically eclipsed by Grantaire’s sweatshirt.

“I did it,” Bossuet admitted. “Even after losing my hand to poison ivy.”

“Poison ivy isn’t a joke,” Joly remarked, glaring.

“Well that tent is unlike any I’ve ever seen before,” Marius said. He was sitting on a rock and held all the ingredients for s'mores in his hands.

“It’s just an ordinary tent,” Bossuet said, lacking Combeferre’s talent for not sounding judgmental.

“Where’d you get the chocolate?” Grantaire asked.

“And the graham crackers?” Enjolras added.

“Yeah, and the marshmallows?” Grantaire asked, in mock-excitement.

Marius looked overwhelmed.

“They were given to me by a mysterious man in the forest,” he said.

“When the hell did you meet a man in the forest?” Bahorel demanded. “I thought Jean Valjean said we were away from all civilization.”

“What did he look like?” Enjolras asked, snatching the bag of marshmallows away from Marius for no apparent reason. He gave them to Grantaire who held them in his hands like he was just given a gift from God.

“Uh, old,” Marius said vaguely. “He was wearing some kind of uniform. He seemed…sketchy.”

“And he just gave you supplies for s’mores? Why?” Enjolras asked. He was examining the marshmallows in Grantaire’s hands instead of just taking them himself, which Grantaire found sort of strange.

“He said…he didn’t need them.”

“Marius, don’t talk to strangers in the woods,” Courfeyrac said, “that’s rule number one.”

“Let’s just throw these out,” Enjolras said, taking the bag from Grantaire.

“Whoa, Enjolras, rule number two is no throwing away food,” Courfeyrac said, taking the bag of marshmallows. “Plus, they’re sealed.”

“That’s not necessarily proof that there isn’t contamination.” Joly was eyeing the marshmallows like they were about to bite him.

“Why can’t we throw away food?” Enjolras asked. “I thought you were going to catch us fish.”

“I checked the babbling brook,” Courfeyrac said, throwing his hands up like the whole ordeal devastated him. “No fish to be found.”

“We still need to build a fire,” Prouvaire remarked. He was sitting beside the babbling brook where there were, indeed, no fish to be found.

Although Courfeyrac insisted that they use flint to build the fire, after about ten minutes of not finding any, he gave up and allowed Grantaire to use his matches. The amis may be talented at revolution, but they were certainly not very adept at living off the land.

The sun was setting now and the fire provided a much needed heat. They huddled together on some makeshift seats (aka rocks that were hard as balls) and began to make s’mores.

“There’s no way I’m eating those s’mores,” Enjolras said. He was sitting next to Grantaire but there was at least five awkward inches between them. Enjolras fought the urge to shift closer, especially since Courfeyrac was on his other side and had hardly any room at all.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Marius said. “Really, I said before that the man seemed sketchy. What I meant was he seemed…eccentric.”

“Everyone we’ve met seems to be eccentric in some way,” Combeferre said, philosophically. “Perhaps that’s because to others, we appear stranger than we perceive ourselves.”

“I agree,” Prouvaire said, eating a perfectly prepared s'more.

“There’s no way I’m eating anything off of a stick that you guys found in the woods,” Joly said. “I’m sorry but there could be animal feces on it.”

“I made sure to only pick the ones with animal feces, Joly,” Grantaire said, as he was the one who they’d nominated to collect sticks, alongside Bahorel and Feuilly.

“Who wants to tell ghost stories?” Courfeyrac suggested, shoving a s’more into his mouth and immediately regretting it since it was scolding molten hot.

“No,” Enjolras said, quickly.

“You’re not scared, are you, Apollo?” Grantaire teased.

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “Ghost stories are just stupid, that’s all.”

“But we met a ghost today!” Marius exclaimed. “I have a great story to tell.”

“Okay, Marius, but it has to be a ghost story,” Courfeyrac said, finally managing to swallow the s’more, “not a story about Cosette.”

“Listen, I gotta piss,” Grantaire said, excusing himself and walking into the darkness of the woods. Enjolras was immediately worried. What if there were bandits in the woods? What if there were bears?

His worry must have shown on his face because Courfeyrac said, “Don’t worry, he’s coming back.”

“I know,” Enjolras snapped. “I’m not worried.”

They were whispering so as not to interrupt Marius’s enticing ghost story.

“Well, now that he’s gone, will you move over?” Courfeyrac asked. “Seriously, half my ass is asleep.”

Enjolras scoffed and moved over on the rock that they were sharing.

“Seriously, he isn’t going to bite you,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“I know,” Enjolras said, defensively. “I just didn’t want to crowd him.”

“He’d probably thank you for it.”

“Why? He doesn’t even like me.”

Courfeyrac face-palmed dramatically. “Enjolras….”

“What?” Enjolras was frustrated and confused. “You’ve seen the way he acts. There’s no way he likes me.”

“Well, do you like him?” Courfeyrac asked, not exactly pleased to be playing matchmaker, even if it was more entertaining that Marius’s ghost story – which involved an excruciating amount of pointless detail regarding the intricacies of a Parisian mansion and the sewer system.

“Of course I do,” Enjolras said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Really? Because all you do is argue,” Courfeyrac said, but before he could continue, Grantaire came back and took his place beside Enjolras. Of course, since Courfeyrac had demanded that he actually be given space, they were much closer than before he’d left, and their legs were now touching. Enjolras and Grantaire both blushed, and neither noticed the other one because they were too busy acting like they didn’t notice each other at all.

“And then, the young girl, who I’ll call Cosette just because I can’t think of another name, crept down the stairs…”

“Listen, Marius, I’m beat,” Bahorel interrupted. “I think I’m going to turn in.”

“Maybe we should set up a watch,” Enjolras suggested. “Just to make sure that sketchy man Marius met doesn’t come back.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Courfeyrac said, “just in case this time he brings us pastries.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Enjolras volunteered, ignoring him.

The rest of the amis piled into the tent, which was, obviously, way too small to fit all of them comfortably. Also, there were only five sleeping bags which meant that everyone would have to double up. Enjolras didn’t even care to claim a bag at this point; he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

He sat on a rock that overlooked the forest, and pulled Grantaire’s sweatshirt closer around him. From the tent, he heard the scramble of the amis as they struggled to figure out who would be sharing a sleeping bag with whom.

“Grantaire,” he heard Courfeyrac’s voice say. Everyone else at least had the decency to whisper, but Courfeyrac seemed determined to wake up every person within a ten mile radius. “Who on earth will you share your sleeping bag with?”

Enjolras heard Grantaire grumble some reply.

“What’s that? Enjolras?”

Courfeyrac’s teasing was followed by a tussle that shook the entire tent, and more than a few angry voices.

“Seriously, Courfeyrac,” this was Combeferre, trying his best to remain calm even in these ridiculous circumstances. “Go to sleep.”

“Well, move over, then,” Courfeyrac said, “you’re taking up the entire bag.”

Enjolras didn’t even need to be in the tent to know that he would be sharing a sleeping bag with Grantaire. The amis, mainly Courfeyrac, seemed to be laboring under the impression that Grantaire was harboring some secret love for him. At one point, Courfeyrac had tried to convince him that the reason Grantaire came to the meetings was because of Enjolras.

Enjolras sighed thinking about it. Maybe that really was the reason, but Grantaire disagreed with every single thing Enjolras said. If Grantaire came to the meetings for Enjolras, it was only to try and annoy him at every turn. And yet, still, Enjolras couldn’t help the attraction he felt towards him. No one had ever made him prove himself, or got under his skin quite like Grantaire. It was nice, sometimes, to be challenged. Grantaire was outwardly bitter and cynical, and yet he still came along on the road trip. He tried to protect Enjolras from the scary gas station, and from the cold weather. He really was sweet. Enjolras found himself blushing and was thankful that it was dark and he was alone.

Or was he? All of a sudden, he saw a red blur in the woods. The figure was attempting to hide behind a tree, and epically failing because of his bright red wardrobe. Before Enjolras could call out, the figure came closer.

Enjolras stood up from the rock, hoping to appear threatening, looking around for something that he could use as a weapon.

The figure, having apparently seen Enjolras, quickly ran through the woods in the opposite direction. Enjolras couldn’t let him get away. This man was clearly trying to kill them or rob their camp site. He chased after the figure.

Thankfully, the intruder wasn’t adept at running through the woods at all and was, in fact, wearing the worse possible boots for the job. Enjolras caught up with him in no time, and he put his hands up in a show of surrender. It was when Enjolras finally got close to him, under the light of the moon, that he recognized the coat that the intruder was wearing. It was his red peacoat.

The intruder was, then, none other than Montparnasse.

He turned around and seemed surprised to see Enjolras. They both stared at each other for a moment before Montparnasse began to laugh. It was sort of a cute laugh, Enjolras admitted to himself, totally not befitting a criminal.

“Enjolras, so lovely to see you again,” he said, pulling a rose out of his pocket and handing it to Enjolras. Enjolras took it for lack of any better ideas. “Well, I’m grateful I didn’t bring the gang to your campsite, since I already took everything.”

“The gang?” Enjolras asked. He wanted to say something threatening, but was too surprised to see Montparnasse again. Why was this road trip so weird?

“Yes, that’s right, I’m the leader of a criminal gang,” Montparnasse said, pulling a top hat out of nowhere and placing it on his head. He really did look suave as hell. “Impressed?”

“No,” Enjolras said, trying to put on his best snobby voice. “Can I have my coat back?”

“I suppose,” Montparnasse said, dragging out the word like he was really considering it. “It does look better on you than it does on me.”

Enjolras’s face flushed.

“Where’s your gang?” he asked, sharply. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You just happened to find us camping here?”

“We had an informant,” Montparnasse said. “Thérnadier. He gave us your location and he apparently gave you marshmallows. My gang is back at our campsite catching fish.”

“There aren’t any fish in the babbling brook,” Enjolras said, defensively, realizing that he was actually quite hungry after Courfeyrac had failed to catch them any fish and the marshmallows were too sketchy to eat.

“Sure there are,” Montparnasse said, surprised. “You just have to try a little upstream.”

“Oh.” Enjolras really didn’t know what to say. He was in the middle of the woods having a conversation about fish with a criminal mastermind who’d given him a rose and was wearing his coat. He wished Combeferre was here to say something logical.

“I don’t suppose I could take you on a moonlight stroll?” Montparnasse asked, in an incredibly seductive voice.

Enjolras coughed. “Never in your wildest dreams.”

Montparnasse laughed. “I didn’t think so. Can I at least walk you back to your campsite? The woods are dangerous, you know. Full of bandits.”

“I suppose,” Enjolras said, relenting. Why the hell was this guy so charming?

Montparnasse held out his arm like they were going on a date, and Enjolras took it. He really, really, really hoped that none of the amis were awake when they got back to the campsite. This was the last thing he felt like explaining.

They walked for a few minutes through the woods to where the amis had pitched the tent.

“Can I have my coat back now?” Enjolras asked, letting go of Montparnasse’s arm.

“Certainly, princess,” Montparnasse said, slipping out of the coat and handing it to Enjolras. Enjolras tried to snatch it away angrily but couldn’t manage to wipe the dumb awestruck expression from his face. This guy’s game totally shit on his.

“Well, thank you,” Enjolras said, running a hand through his curls.

“Au revoir, Enjolras,” Montparnasse said, and gently lifted Enjolras’s hand and kissed it. Without another word, he disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

Enjolras sat down on the rock, his legs giving away beneath him. He really needed to sleep. He looked down at the rose and red coat in his hands and was grateful, at least, that he’d just stopped their campsite from getting robbed. He knew keeping a watch was a good idea.


	8. Chapter 8

After about an hour, Enjolras gave up the watch to Feuilly, who thankfully didn’t ask any questions about the red coat or the rose. Enjolras wandered sleepily into the tent, still wearing Grantaire’s sweatshirt, and tossed his things into a corner. Of course, there really was no spare corner in the tent, and so they landed on Courfeyrac’s face. Thankfully, he was sleeping. The tent was literally bursting at the seams with amis, and Enjolras struggled to scan the sleeping bodies for Grantaire.

He saw him at last, pressed up against one of the walls. He attempted to jump over everyone, trying to be discreet, but ended up stepping on a few unfortunate friends. Finally, he reached Grantaire and hesitantly knelt down, nudging him.

“Grantaire,” he whispered, looking around the tent in paranoia, hoping he wouldn’t wake anyone up.

Grantaire mumbled a little in his sleep, but didn’t wake up.

“Grantaire,” he tried again, this time a little louder.

Finally, after a few more nudges, Grantaire blearily opened his eyes, looking at Enjolras hovering above him in disbelief.

“Enjolras?” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. Enjolras felt his heart skip a beat – Grantaire hardly ever used his name.

“Yes, it’s me,” he began, but couldn’t think of what else to say. Move over? Mind if we share? He tried to think of what Montparnasse would say in this situation.

“Am I dreaming?” Grantaire asked, and he had the most incredible smile. “Are you really about to ask me to share a sleeping bag?”

Enjolras scoffed. “There are no other options.”

“Who’s taking the watch right now?” Grantaire asked, seeming more awake by the minute. Enjolras, on the other hand, was about to pass out.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said, frustrated. “Feuilly.”

“Then Marius’s sleeping bag is available,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras couldn’t believe this. Grantaire was so impossible.

“Like I said, there aren’t any other options,” Enjolras said, his voice rising. “I’m not sleeping with Marius. Move over.”

“Bossy,” Grantaire said, but he scooted over as far as he could and held open the sleeping bag to allow Enjolras to join.

It was only after Enjolras attempted to get in that he realized just how cramped and awkward this was about to become.

“Can’t you move over anymore?” Enjolras whispered. He wasn’t even half in the sleeping bag.

“No, I can’t, because this sleeping bag was only made for one person.”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, angrily. He tried to push himself in, ignoring how he could already feel Grantaire’s body pressed against his. Seriously, none of the other amis found this sleeping arrangement problematic?

“Okay, listen,” Grantaire said, sensing Enjolras’s frustration. “I don’t need to sleep in the bag, I’ll just get out.”

“No,” Enjolras said, quickly. Fuck, he said that way too quickly. “No, that’s not fair. I’m fine. I’m very comfortable.”

“You’re comfortable?” Grantaire said, smirking. “We’re on top of each other.”

“I’m very comfortable!” Enjolras repeated, nearly hysterical. “And I’m very tired. Goodnight.”

Enjolras turned around so that his back was facing Grantaire, effectively drowning Grantaire in a sea of blonde curls.

“Uh, Enjolras,” Grantaire began, hair in his mouth. “You know I love your hair, but could you please control it for the night.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras whispered, reaching over to gather his hair. “Did you just say you love my hair?”

“Who doesn’t love your hair?” Grantaire whispered. They were so close that he was legitimately whispering into Enjolras’s ear. Enjolras felt his whole face flush.

“Uh…I don’t know,” Enjolras stuttered, at a loss for words. He was too tired to figure out if Grantaire was teasing him or flirting. Probably the former.

“No one,” Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras could tell he was smiling. It made Enjolras feel nice to know that his hair made Grantaire smile. He noticed that he was still wearing the green sweatshirt.

Enjolras rolled over and was once again surprised to realize how close he was to Grantaire. Their noses were basically touching.

“Uh, hi,” Grantaire stuttered, he was looking down at Enjolras, who lowered his face into Grantaire’s neck. Enjolras internally swore that this cuddling was entirely accidental.

“Can I ask you something?” Enjolras whispered.

“Of course,” Grantaire replied, nervous, figuring Enjolras was probably going to ask him to move the fuck over.

Enjolras took a breath to calm his heart before blurting out, “why do Courfeyrac and the others think that you’re in love with me?”

It wasn’t dark enough to mask the surprise on Grantaire’s face. He tried to avert his eyes, but there was literally nowhere to hide. Enjolras could see that Grantaire had paled at his question, and immediately regretted asking. They were trapped in the middle of the woods in the same sleeping bag and of course he had to go and make things even more awkward.

“I don’t know, Apollo…” Grantaire began, and Enjolras could tell that he was upset. He hated himself for totally ruining the moment. They could be happily sleeping right now if it hadn’t been for him.

“Forget it,” Enjolras said quickly. “It’s just, they seem to think you come to the meetings because you’re in love with me.”

It sounded pathetic to say out loud. If there was anything Grantaire had made obvious, it was just how little he thought of Enjolras.

“Enjolras…” Grantaire began, “don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Enjolras interrupted before he could continue.  “I know you’re not– that you don’t, you know, think of me that way…or even really like me. That’s fine. I was just wondering why everyone seemed so convinced that the opposite was true.”

“I like you.” Grantaire was more than a little surprised by Enjolras’s words. “I like you a lot, Enjolras.”

Enjolras blushed at the words without believing them. He felt guilty for putting Grantaire on the spot like this. It was bad enough that he’d totally invaded his personal sleeping space.

“Forget it, Grantaire,” he said, hurriedly, and went to turn around again. He didn’t want to look like he was trying to cuddle.

“Wait.” Grantaire put a hand on Enjolras’s arm. Enjolras stilled under the touch. “Enjolras, will you let me say something?”

“Okay,” Enjolras said, hesitantly, preparing himself for the worst.

“The reason they all think I’m in love with you is because I’m incredibly – hopelessly – in love with you,” Grantaire said. He was still whispering, but managed to sound even smaller than before. He looked like he expected Enjolras to slap him in the face.

“What?” Enjolras asked, blinking in the darkness. He couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. He felt like he was missing out on some joke.

“It’s true.” Grantaire tried to smile, despite the sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“But you’re…you don’t even like me,” Enjolras said, blankly. He couldn’t even believe this was happening. That Grantaire would ever actually like him. “You think the revolution is stupid.”

Enjolras always liked to refer to the rallies and protests they attended as _the revolution_. He thought it was good for morale.

Grantaire laughed a little, his hand still on Enjolras’s arm. “You’re more than the revolution, Enjolras. And besides, I don’t think it’s stupid, just idealistic.”

“Oh.” Enjolras very rarely found himself at a loss for words. “So you’re really in love with me?”

“Please don’t be angry,” Grantaire pleaded, and his smile was immediately replaced with a look of desperation.

“I’m not angry, Grantaire,” Enjolras began, and he slowly brought his hand up, gently tracing his fingers across Grantaire’s face. He didn’t miss the way Grantaire leaned into the touch. “I’m just surprised. I like you too, you know.”

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire said, forcing a laugh. Enjolras pulled his hand back, surprised.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you, Enjolras,” Grantaire said. “You’re beautiful, passionate, smart, dedicated – everyone loves you. I am not even close to being good enough for you. So yes, it’s hard to believe.”

“Grantaire—”

“I’m not upset, Enjolras. I never expected anything more. Just to be around you…to be sharing this sleeping bag with you right now, it’s enough. It’s more than I ever imagined.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, and before Grantaire could interrupt again, he brought his hand up to brush the hair from Grantaire’s face, and softly kissed him on the lips. He pulled back a moment later, heart practically beating out of his chest. He’d never kissed anyone before, and now Grantaire was surely going to freak out and say “ _wow, I was just kidding, Enjolras_ ”—

“Do you mean it?” Grantaire whispered, leaning closer. “Really? You’re not just sleep deprived?”

Enjolras kicked Grantaire’s leg gently underneath the sleeping bag. “I’m sleep deprived, yes. But I mean it.”

“I can’t believe this is real.”

“Let me kiss you again,” Enjolras said, his fingers laced in Grantaire’s hair. “Please?”

“Okay,” Grantaire said, barely making a sound. Enjolras moved closer to Grantaire, lifting himself so that he was half on top of him, and kissed him again. He was a little more sure of himself this time, but still incredibly inexperienced. He hoped Grantaire wouldn’t mind.

“Can I touch your hair?” Grantaire asked hesitantly, after Enjolras had pulled away.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, blushing furiously. “Of course you can.”

“I always imagined it to be very soft,” Grantaire admitted, and he reached up slowly to wrap his fingers in Enjolras’s curls. Enjolras smiled and leaned in for a kiss, this one deeper and more passionate. They were going at it for a few minutes when,

“Holy mother of god, who is making out?” Courfeyrac’s voice called from the darkness, causing Enjolras and Grantaire to jump seven feet in the air and pull away from each other, an action made impossible by the fact that they were both in the same sleeping bag.

Courfeyrac was sitting up at this point and immediately saw the culprits.

“Ah, the lovebirds,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I should have known.”

Before Enjolras or Grantaire could offer some excuse, Feuilly came to the tent entrance and announced that it was the end of his shift.

There were only about two hours left until daylight and Marius was awoken for the last shift. Grantaire and Enjolras settled back into their sleeping bag, laughing nervously, and holding each other close throughout the night. Enjolras felt Grantaire kiss the top of his head before he drifted off to sleep, his face buried in Grantaire’s chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Enjolras groaned as he opened his eyes to the blinding sunlight coming in through the tent, and the smell of fish cooking. He was alone in the sleeping bag, and, apparently, the last one to wake up. He heard voices coming from outside, and slowly got up, running a finger through his tangled hair. He remembered Grantaire touching his hair last night, and immediately felt faint. What the hell had he done?

He emerged from the tent feeling like death incarnate but looking gorgeous as always. He saw Combeferre and Joly cooking a few fish in a pan over the fire.

“Where’d you get the fish?” Enjolras asked.

“A mysterious man gave them to Marius during his watch,” Courfeyrac responded. He was sitting on a rock and looked hungover, despite having had nothing to drink the previous night. “I’m not even kidding.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked, scanning the amis for Grantaire. He was talking with Bossuet, a bottle of wine in his hands.

“It wasn’t a mysterious man,” Marius explained, combing his hair. “It was that guy from the motel.”

“Montparnasse,” Enjolras said. “He brought us fish. How nice.”

“He was rather nice,” Marius admitted.

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” Courfeyrac said, flipping the fish in the pan as though he were an expert chef. Everyone was rather impressed. “I was being chased through the streets by baboons.”

“There’s a simple explanation for that, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre explained. He was pulling the various sleeping bags out of the tent and rolling them up. “Your dreams signify the lack of control you feel over your own life.”

“Baboons signal a lack of control?” Courfeyrac asked, skeptically.

“Well, not necessarily _baboons…_ ”

“Why are you folding all the sleeping bags, anyway?” Enjolras asked, interrupting the dream interpretation. “We can’t take them with us. We’ll have to hike back to the car.”

“Maybe Jean Valjean will show up and transport us again,” Marius commented, yawning loudly.

“Fish is done!” Courfeyrac announced. “Too bad we don’t have any silverware. We’ll have to use tools made from rock like our ancient ancestors.”

“Make sure the fish is cooked fully, Courfeyrac,” Joly said, walking over and inspecting them.

“They’re fine,” Bossuet said, taking Joly’s hand. The small intimate gesture made Enjolras’s stomach drop. He looked over at Grantaire, who was looking at the ground. He knew he would eventually have to talk to him and decided to do so while everyone was distracted by the prospect of fish.

Dragging his feet, he walked over, wishing he had the common sense to take off the damn sweatshirt and put on his peacoat. He enjoyed appearing put-together during serious conversations.

“Grantaire,” he greeted, trying to sound casual. Grantaire jumped a little at the noise, but stood up, looking Enjolras in the eyes. Enjolras took a step back. This wasn’t good – Grantaire was definitely about to cry.

“Enjolras,” he managed, eyes bloodshot, gripping the wine bottle tight. Enjolras noted that it was empty. “I’m so…I’m so sorry.”

“What on earth for?” Enjolras asked, already knowing the answer.

Sorry for leading you on. Sorry that I admitted to feelings that never existed.

“Last night,” Grantaire said, staring at the ground, unable to meet Enjolras’s eyes. “You were really out of it, and you’ve had such a stressful couple days and I…took advantage. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras blinked. This definitely wasn’t what he was expecting.

“You mean…this isn’t about you not having feelings for me?” Enjolras asked. “This isn’t about me being an inexperienced kisser?”

“What?” Grantaire asked, confused, voice still choked with unshed tears.

“Just tell me the truth, Grantaire, we’re both fully awake and functioning,” Enjolras asked, “do you like me or not?”

“Of course I like you,” Grantaire said, and before he could say another word, the tears were falling. Enjolras had absolutely no idea what to do. If there was one thing he had zero experience in, it was comforting others in emotional distress.

“Don’t cry,” he said, pathetically, and pulled Grantaire in for an embrace. He was surprised when Grantaire buried his face in Enjolras’s chest, soaking the sweatshirt with tears. He began rubbing circles onto Grantaire’s back, trying to calm him down. He noticed that the excitement of the fish had died down and the other amis had almost certainly realized that Grantaire was having an emotional breakdown.

“It’s just I…” Grantaire began, hardly making out the words, still speaking into the sweatshirt. “I love you so much, Enjolras. This isn’t just…it’s not just a passing interest.”

“Uh,” Enjolras heard Courfeyrac say. “Let’s go eat our fish over here. On the other side of this tree.”

“Excellent idea,” Combeferre said. “The view is very beautiful from over here.”

For all their lack of subtlety, Enjolras was grateful for the privacy.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, pulling away, without bothering to wipe the tears from his face. “I’m such a mess. This is the last thing you need right now.”

“You’re fine, Grantaire,” Enjolras reassured. He wanted to wipe the tears from Grantaire’s face. “You should know that I’ve liked you for a while too. I assumed that I wasn’t anything that you wanted, and I’m…well you’ve probably noticed that I’m a little emotionally inexperienced.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything, but lifted his eyes, looking at Enjolras with such vulnerability and hope.

“I’d like to give this a try, if you’re okay with it,” Enjolras finished, speaking softly. He’d never been so nervous in his entire life.

“I’m very okay with it,” Grantaire said, and he finally lifted his hand to wipe away the tears that had since dried on his face. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real,” Enjolras assured, with a small smile. “I apologize for making it seem that I disliked you. I thought you hated me and well, I was defensive.”

Grantaire let out a small laugh. “Don’t apologize for anything, Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiled, and grabbed Grantaire’s hands in his own. “You’re amazing, you know.”

“I’m not.” Grantaire dropped his gaze. “I’m really not.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, and he leaned forward slowly to touch his forehead against Grantaire’s. He’d never done anything like this before, and was relieved when Grantaire leaned into the touch. “You are.”

Grantaire smiled up at Enjolras, flustered and embarrassed and positively radiant.

“Shall we join the others, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, uncomfortable under all the affection. “I’m sure they’re wondering what’s going on.”

“Sure,” Enjolras smiled, squeezing his hand.

They broke apart and walked hand-in-hand over to the rest of the amis, who were a ways off eating fish.

“I hope there’s some fish left,” Grantaire called, as a way of greeting.

“Sorry, Grantaire, you snooze you lose,” Courfeyrac said, eyes on their entwined hands.

“Courfeyrac, there’s plenty of fish left,” Combeferre said, rolling his eyes. He lifted up a plate of food and handed it over.

“So, what news?” Courfeyrac asked, about to fly into the sun from happiness.

“Grantaire and I had a conversation about our feelings,” Enjolras said, ignoring the looks of amazement on the faces of the amis. “And we’re now…dating.”

“Dating?” Courfeyrac asked, feigning shock. “Who knew? Did anyone here know they liked each other? I had no idea, honestly.”

“Enough,” Enjolras said, sitting down and pulling Grantaire beside him. “Can we focus on how we’re getting back to the car?”

“I think a hike through the woods might be exactly what we need,” Prouvaire said. “The fresh air will do us some good.”

“I’m done with fresh air for a while,” Bossuet remarked – camping was clearly not his thing.

“The car is only a mile away,” Combeferre reasoned. “We should be able to manage.”

Following Combeferre’s rational and persuasive suggestion, the amis gathered what few belongings they had left and began the slow and agonizing hike to the vehicle.

“What’re we going to do about the flat tire?” Grantaire asked.

No one had any ideas.

“You could always change it,” Joly suggested, finally. “And put the spare on.”

“Wow, good idea,” Courfeyrac said. “Why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

Enjolras wasn’t in the mood to discuss tires or cars, however. He had butterflies in his stomach thinking about the conversation he’d just had. Grantaire was walking beside him, shyly brushing their hands together as they trudged through the uneven woodland terrain. He never in a million years would have guessed that Grantaire was actually in love with him. Courfeyrac was apparently much better at reading people than he was given credit for.

As they continued walking through the woods, Enjolras would look over at Grantaire and catch him staring, eyes full of adoration. Enjolras never thought he’d get to experience such intense love – he didn’t think he’d ever have the time to seek it out, or the temperament to inspire it.

Finally, they reached the car, which was left abandoned exactly where they’d last seen it. Enjolras was thankful that Javert hadn’t had it towed out of spite.

Miraculously, the spare tire was already on, with a small note attached to it. Enjolras tore the sticky-note from the tire and examined it.

“It’s from Jean Valjean,” he said, and began to read out loud, “ _What have I done, sweet Jesus, what have I done? Become a thief in the night, become a dog on the run?_ ”

“So poetic,” Prouvaire remarked, fondly.

Enjolras continued, “ _As a sign of gratitude for believing in me and giving me a second chance, I put on your spare tire. In a world that is cruel and cold, a small act of kindness can go a long way. Peace and love. Signed, Jean Valjean._ ”

“I can’t wait to tell Cosette about this,” Marius said, after Enjolras was finished reading.

“What an interesting man,” Grantaire said, as Enjolras folded the note up and put it into his pocket. “Let’s hope he put on the spare correctly and we don’t crash, am I right?”

This earned a glare from Enjolras.

“Well, everyone pile in,” Courfeyrac shouted, as Enjolras used his keys to unlock the doors.

“Can I have an actual seat this time?” Marius complained.

“No, dude, sorry,” Courfeyrac answered, without giving any reason why.

“And this time I’m driving,” Combeferre said, taking the keys away from Enjolras. Before Enjolras had the chance to look offended, Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “it’s okay. You should probably rest a little, anyway.”

Enjolras was grateful that Combeferre didn’t judge him for not having his license – not that he expected any different.

They all took the same seats that they had previously, except Combeferre was in the driver’s seat and Enjolras was sitting behind him. Grantaire was still in the passenger’s seat, and kept glancing behind him to watch Enjolras stare out the window, or twirl a curl around his finger. The sight was mesmerizing.

After about an hour of driving with only the radio and a little small talk for entertainment, all of the amis gradually began to fall asleep. Combeferre didn’t really mind, since the silence allowed him to turn on his favorite radio station – the musical channel.

“Musicals, really?” Grantaire remarked. “Who knew?”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said, coughing a little. “I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

Grantaire had been leaning against the window appearing dead to the world. He tried to casually glance behind him at Enjolras, who had taken off Grantaire’s sweatshirt and pressed it up against the window as a sort of make-shift pillow. His face was buried between it and the sea of blonde that was his hair. He could barely make out the soft, relaxed expression on his face, his too-red lips slightly parted, hands resting freely in his lap. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile affectionately – Enjolras always managed to look like an angel.

Combeferre couldn’t be more pleased that Grantaire and Enjolras had finally come clean about their feelings for each other. Courfeyrac hadn’t been the only one to notice Grantaire’s pining and suffering, even if he had been the most vocal about it. He risked a glance over at Grantaire, expecting to see him glowing with happiness at the knowledge that Enjolras reciprocated his feelings. Instead, he saw fear and uncertainty.

“Something wrong?” Combeferre asked, hoping to keep his voice calm and casual.

“I’m not good enough for him,” Grantaire muttered, and his expression turned to one of agony, like someone facing their death. “He’s going to realize it, and he’s going to leave.”

“He knows you,” Combeferre said, keeping his voice low. “He accepts your faults, just like you accept his. You are good enough for him. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Combeferre knew there was little hope in convincing him. Grantaire had a track record for self-deprecation and a lifetime of being ridiculed for his looks and personality – too long to put any stock in Combeferre’s words. Still, he had to try. There was nothing he wanted more than for Grantaire and Enjolras to both be happy, wherever they ended up.

“When we get back to Paris, he’ll remember why he disliked me,” Grantaire continued, hiding his face behind his hands, trying desperately not to cry again. “You’re his best friend. You can’t truthfully tell me that I’m the best he can do.”

“If Enjolras is happy, and you’re happy,” Combeferre said, “then you’re perfect.”

“This is all too good to be true.” Grantaire turned to look out the window, attempting to hide the distress on his face.

“Grantaire…”Combeferre began in a soft voice. He glanced behind him briefly to check that all the amis were sleeping before continuing. “Enjolras is our leader. He presents himself as being very confident and self-assured, but in reality, I can guarantee he’s as scared as you are right now.”

“Scared of the mistake he just made,” Grantaire muttered.

“This is his first real relationship,” Combeferre pressed on, “he’s going to be terrified of messing it up. Believe me, he really likes you. He’s going to do his best, and you have to do yours. You can decide together whether or not it’s worth it.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” Grantaire said, risking a glance behind him to the sleeping Enjolras.

“Of course I do,” Combeferre assured. “You’re a great person, and you’ll be great for Enjolras.”

Combeferre considered it a success when Grantaire smiled in return, and once again leaned his head against the window. He knew that Enjolras meant the world to Grantaire, and hoped for both of their sakes that this would work out.


	10. Chapter 10

During the disastrous road trip, they’d managed to get painfully off course and so the drive to Paris would take at least an hour longer than planned. It was nearing three in the afternoon when the amis began to wake up, grumbling about how hungry they were.

“Where should I stop?” Combeferre asked, hoping for a consensus. Of course, everyone had their own, explicit ideas of what they should eat and no one agreed with anyone else. Used to this at meetings, Combeferre simply pulled over at the first restaurant that he could find (thankfully, he’d managed to get them onto a highway and so the rest stops were now far less sketchy) which was a small burger joint called Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s.

Pulling into the parking lot, Courfeyrac exclaimed,

“Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s? Combeferre, seriously?”

“No one else agreed with your suggestion of Pizza Hut, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre sighed, getting out of the car.

“I sort of like this place,” Marius admitted.

Enjolras all but rolled out of the car, pulling on his red peacoat and attempting to calm his hair. He looked a little bleary eyed from sleep and limped his way over to Grantaire, who was standing on the other side of the car, looking at the colorful burger joint with apprehension.

“Good morning,” Enjolras greeted, and he reached out and took Grantaire’s hand in a rush, before he lost his nerve.

Grantaire looked surprised at the gesture.

“Is this okay?” he asked, big blue eyes shining with concern.

“Of course it’s okay,” Grantaire smiled, squeezing Enjolras’s hand. They followed the rest of the amis into the burger joint where they were greeted by a rather flamboyantly dressed, overly enthusiastic employee who showed them to their table and asked for their drink orders.

“I’ll just have water,” Enjolras muttered, pressing himself up against Grantaire. They were all sort of stuffed into a booth, since Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s didn’t usually cater to surprise parties of ten.

Everyone else ordered either water or iced tea (although Grantaire checked the menu hopelessly for alcohol before doing so) and began to peruse the menu for food. Every item had a rather embarrassing name and even Combeferre was beginning to regret their decision to come here.

After a few moments the drinks arrived and Enjolras was delivered an extravagant strawberry milkshake complete with small umbrella and party hat.

“What on earth…?” he began, as Courfeyrac started to laugh like a hyena.

“Someone bought you the Super Weenie Hut Strawberry Milkshake Surprise!” the waiter announced loudly, bringing literally all the attention in the restaurant to Enjolras’s blushing face.

“Who would…?” Enjolras began, but before he could continue, the waiter turned and pointed to a table adjacent to the amis’ where Montparnasse was sitting.

He was wearing a sparkly black suit and a hat with a purple flower in it, and he waved flirtatiously at Enjolras.

Enjolras looked at Montparnasse, then to the milkshake, then to Courfeyrac whose water was now coming out of his nose, and then to Grantaire, who shrugged.

“Uh,” Enjolras said, finally. “Thank you, I guess.”

“You’re welcome!” the waiter said, indifferent to Enjolras’s embarrassment. “Now, what’re we all going to order?”

“I’ll have the Happy Weenie Wonder Burger,” Marius began, no shame in his game.

Enjolras took a hesitant sip of his milkshake and avoided eye-contact with Montparnasse at all costs. Grantaire ended up ordering a sandwich called the Weener Weener Pumpkin Eater and Enjolras just ordered the same in an attempt to avoid saying any of these ridiculous names out loud.

Finally, the waiter left and the amis were alone with Courfeyrac’s laughing.

“Is the milkshake any good?” he asked, snorting.

“It’s delicious,” Enjolras replied, flatly. “I love strawberry.”

“Hey, Enjolras…” Combeferre began hesitantly. “Do you think you might be able to convince Montparnasse to return my phone?”

“Do you really think Enjolras should be associating with criminals?” Joly asked worriedly.

“What kind of criminal hangs out at Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s anyway?” Grantaire remarked, taking a sip of his iced tea and lamenting the lack of vodka.  “Can I have some of your milkshake?”

“True,” Joly reluctantly admitted.

Enjolras sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

Thankfully he was sitting at the end of the row, and only had to push past Marius, who was sitting at a chair that they had to drag over in order to accommodate him.

Montparnasse was sitting with a group of people that looked the very definition of a Parisian Criminal Gang. That is, they looked like thugs. Montparnasse was drinking his own Super Weenie Hut Strawberry Milkshake Surprise, and looked up as Enjolras approached.

Enjolras tried to look as intimidating as possible.

“Enjolras,” Montparnasse greeted, drawing out the syllables of his name and pretending like he’d only just noticed him. “I hope you’ll excuse me buying you a drink.”

“Can Combeferre have his phone back?” Enjolras asked, deciding to cut right to the chase.

“Enjolras,” Montparnasse said, putting on a real air of exasperation. “You can’t demand I give back every single thing I stole from you. I like you, but I’m a thief. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You’re eating at Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s,” Enjolras commented.

“Very true,” Montparnasse said, running his fingers through the feather on his hat. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Well, isn’t this your criminal gang?” Enjolras asked, frustrated, indicating the group of thugs that Montparnasse was sitting with.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the phone anymore,” Montparnasse said, ignoring the question. “I sold it.”

Enjolras sighed, not knowing what to say. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Montparnasse said, not really sounding very sorry. “So, congratulations.”

“Congratulations?” Enjolras asked, tapping his foot with impatience. Montparnasse was exhausting.

“On your courtship,” Montparnasse clarified.

“Courtship?” Enjolras stuttered, choking on the word. “With who, exactly?”

“I don’t know, maybe the one sharing your Super Weenie Hut Strawberry Milkshake Surprise.”

Enjolras turned around to find that yes, Grantaire was currently sucking down his obnoxious strawberry milkshake – it was pretty adorable.

“Congratulations,” Montparnasse repeated, dark eyes looking up from under the purple feather.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, never really knowing what to say around Montparnasse.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure my broken heart will heal,” he said dramatically, taking off his hat to reveal perfectly styled chestnut hair, curled and flipped over his shoulder. “And I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

“I’m sure,” Enjolras said, unintelligibly. He hated how he found himself simultaneously enchanted and frustrated by Montparnasse. He’d be happy if their paths didn’t cross any time soon – for the sake of both himself and his belongings.

“Think of me fondly, princess,” Montparnasse said, dismissing him with a wave. “I will think of you often. Perhaps I’ll use the money from that phone to buy my own red peacoat.”

Enjolras attempted to scoff, and turned away, walking back to the amis’ table. He really didn’t have any idea what just happened.

“No luck?” Combeferre greeted, trying to hide his disappointment. Enjolras felt guilty – Combeferre was the last person who deserved to have his things stolen.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, sitting down and once again pressing up against Grantaire. “He said he’s sold it.”

“I figured it was a long shot,” Combeferre said. “Thank you for trying.”

A saddened Combeferre was pretty much the most depressing sight in the entire world, and the amis were thankfully spared from it by the arrival of the food.

The Weener Weener Pumpkin Eater turned out to be an obscenely high stack of pancakes topped with pumpkin seeds, whipped cream, and rainbow sprinkles. Enjolras was not impressed.

“Why did you order this?” he asked Grantaire, judging hard.

“Pancakes are delicious, Apollo,” Grantaire said, pouring syrup all over his.

Everyone’s food was equally as obnoxious and there was hardly any room on the table as the amis struggled to eat without making a gigantic mess. By the time they were finished, the table was littered with napkins, ketchup, syrup, and Enjolras’s milkshake, which had gotten knocked over by Courfeyrac’s elbow as he struggled to cut his steak with a butter knife. Enjolras mourned for the person who would have to clean this up.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Combeferre said, finally. Even he had managed to make a mess of his food.

“First, I think you owe us an apology for bringing us here,” Courfeyrac remarked, about to fall into a food coma.

“My burger was actually delicious,” Marius commented.

“My pancakes were also pretty good,” Grantaire added, before glancing over at Enjolras, who’d only eaten about three pancakes. “Apollo! You barely touched yours!”

“Too many sprinkles,” Enjolras said, and it was true – Enjolras wasn’t really a fan of rainbow sprinkles.

“Okay, let’s go,” Combeferre said, standing up before the amis could fall asleep in their seats.

As they went up to pay the bill, which had come to forty-three “Weenie dollars” or about 70 euro, Enjolras risked a glance over to Montparnasse’s table to find it deserted. Only the empty cup of the Super Weenie Hut Strawberry Milkshake Surprise remained.

Combeferre led the way out into the parking lot, where the amis were greeted with blinding sunlight and the desire to lay down on the pavement and never move again.

“You guys,” Joly said, clutching his stomach. “I’m going into a coma. This is real.”

“You’ll be fine,” Bossuet said, wrapping his arm around Joly’s shoulders. They both looked ready to collapse.

Finally, with a great deal of persuasion and encouragement, Combeferre was able to round up the amis and get them all into Enjolras’s van.

“Hey, uh, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, keeping his voice down, just as Courfeyrac was about to get into the van.

“What is it?” Courfeyrac said, still clutching his stomach as though he was giving birth instead of just digesting food.

“Want to switch seats?” Grantaire tried to sound casual, like he just happened to need a break from the passenger’s side.

This simple question seemed to cheer Courfeyrac up considerably.

“Of course, my friend!” Courfeyrac winked, and went into the passenger’s side so that Grantaire was now sitting next to Enjolras, an unsuspecting Bahorel sharing the row with them.

“Hi there,” Grantaire greeted, sliding in so that he was sitting beside Enjolras, who had one of the previously printed pamphlets in his hand, and was making notes in the margins.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras greeted, without looking up.

Grantaire shifted nervously. Of course, Enjolras’s work was still the most important, he really shouldn’t impose—

“Checking for typos?” Grantaire asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes, I’m checking for typos, Grantaire,” Enjolras deadpanned.

Combeferre started the car and pulled back onto the highway, the sound of cars whirring by and a charming song from _Next to Normal_ resounding in the background.

Grantaire wanted terribly to engage Enjolras in some sort of discussion, to once again have his attention, but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound desperate or clingy. Plus, he knew all of the amis would be listening.

Thankfully, Enjolras seemed to notice his discomfort and looked up from the pamphlets, catching Grantaire’s eyes.

“I have to be prepared for the next rally,” he offered, as though he needed an excuse.

“I know, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, with gentle eyes. “The world isn’t going to save itself.”

Enjolras smiled timidly and put aside the pamphlets to grab onto Grantaire’s hand, interlacing their fingers. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, probably upon remembering that they had an audience of every single one of their friends. Instead, Enjolras leaned softly into Grantaire, head resting on his shoulder.

He looked up at Grantaire, eyes asking permission, and Grantaire buried his nose into Enjolras’s curls.

The rest of the drive home was peaceful and relaxed, with no more surprise visitors from flirtatious criminal masterminds, overzealous police officers, or mysterious time-travelling ex-convicts – and for that, everyone was grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super weenie hut jr.'s does not belong to me


	11. Chapter 11

They returned to Paris at about seven o’clock at night, and Combeferre dropped them all off at Enjolras’s house, where Marius, Joly, and Combeferre had parked their cars.

Everyone piled out, totally drained and unprepared for the early day of classes that would greet them the following morning.

“Alright, everyone,” Enjolras said, in an exhausted reflection of his normal speech-voice. “I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow at the Café Musain to discuss our next protest.”

“Our next protest better be within walking distance,” Courfeyrac muttered, getting into Joly’s car.

The rest of the amis said their goodbyes, and piled into the vehicles until it was only Grantaire and Enjolras remaining. Since Joly had been Grantaire’s ride to the house, he was forced to say a quick goodbye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Grantaire said, still able to feel the weight of Enjolras resting on his shoulder.

“Okay,” Enjolras responded, awkwardly. He really wanted to give Grantaire some kind of hug, but felt suddenly self-conscious, especially with all the amis waiting in Joly’s car for them to hurry up with the farewells.

“This weekend was…nice,” Grantaire said. “I mean, it was more than nice. We didn’t go to the protest, I know, but…all my dreams came true.”

He mentally smacked himself for that incredible amount of cheese, but Enjolras seemed to be a fan of the corny lines. He smiled and said, “me too, Grantaire.”

Grantaire turned to leave, and was surprised when Enjolras reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him in for a hug. He felt light-headed and delirious, unsure how this could even be happening. He was being hugged. By Enjolras.

After a moment, he hugged back, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s small frame and feeling his heart beat. When he pulled away, he ran his fingers through Enjolras’s curls, pushing the hair back from his face.

“Goodbye,” he said, touching their noses together, and giving him a small kiss on the lips. He could feel Enjolras smiling.

He finally pulled away and turned to walk to Joly’s car, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, butterflies in his stomach.

When he got into the car and closed the door, gazing out the window at Enjolras, who was picking up his bags and entering his house, Bossuet nudged him and said, “you do realize you’re going to see him tomorrow, right?”

“Shut up,” Grantaire muttered, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He couldn’t recall ever being so happy.

Meanwhile, Enjolras was all nerves as he entered his house, throwing himself onto the couch and thinking of nothing but Grantaire. He never would have imagined that Grantaire had romantic feelings for him and now that they were dating, he didn’t exactly know what to do. He’d never been involved with anyone before – romantically or sexually – and really didn’t want to mess this up. If he was being honest, he’d never even felt the desire to have sex with anyone, and wasn’t sure if that would somehow change with Grantaire.

He decided to call up Combeferre, hoping that he hadn’t decided to take a nap after driving them three hours through the middle of nowhere to get back home.

“Hello?” Combeferre answered, sounding very tired.

“Sorry to call you,” Enjolras began, hurriedly. “I know you’re probably exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” Combeferre said, in a reassuring voice that immediately soothed Enjolras’s racing heart. “I assume that this is about Grantaire.”

“Yes,” Enjolras admitted, unsure what to say.

“You’re anxious because he’s your first boyfriend,” Combeferre offered.

“Yes.” Combeferre was apparently now able to read his mind over the phone.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, “are you sitting down?”

“Yes,” Enjolras repeated.

“Good, now I want you to take several deep breaths and listen to me.”

Enjolras did as he was told.

“Good,” Combeferre began, “now listen. Grantaire has had a crush on you forever. You have been the most important person to him since he first laid eyes on you.”

“But what if he’s only attracted to me physically, and when he finds out—” Enjolras started, in a panicked voice, but was interrupted.

“Enjolras. He isn’t only attracted to you physically, believe me. Obviously this is a conversation that you’ll have with him yourself, but from my observations…he’s in love with you. In every way. He isn’t going to leave you just because you don’t want to have sex with him.”

Enjolras was grateful that this conversation was happening over the phone, because he was blushing with embarrassment. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just be normal, then this would be so much easier – Grantaire would be happy with him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being a disappointment.

“I just want to make him happy, Combeferre,” Enjolras said, hopelessly. “He’s going to realize this was all a mistake.”

Combeferre sighed – where had he heard that before? “Just talk to him, Enjolras. Open conversation and honesty are good things.”

“I will,” Enjolras promised, a little nauseous at the idea. He was used to being sure of himself and his ideas – now he just felt like a fish out of water.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, overwhelmed with exhaustion. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting.”

He hung up the phone and fell asleep right there on the couch, wondering if Grantaire was thinking of him too.

* * *

The morning’s meeting began at nine o’clock sharp, and only Combeferre was there on time. Even Enjolras, who was usually at least an hour early, had not yet arrived. He came in fifteen minutes late with Starbucks, looking as though he hadn’t slept the night.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greeted, checking the room to see if everyone was there. As usual, everyone except Marius was in attendance. He saw Grantaire sitting in his usual corner, bottle of wine in hand, with Joly and Bossuet. It was like nothing had changed.

“Please tell me that’s a caramel soy latte, Apollo,” Grantaire called from his table. “I’ve been craving one.”

“Yes, in fact, it is,” Enjolras said, unsure how Grantaire knew his Starbucks order. “If I’d, uh, known you wanted one, I would have–”

“It’s okay, I forgive you,” Grantaire interrupted, acting like he was really depressed. Enjolras realized he was being teased and his face flushed. If Grantaire could pretend like everything was normal, why couldn’t he? “I only take my lattes with whiskey, anyway.”

“Shall we get to the matter at hand?” Combeferre said, calling the attention to him. Enjolras sat down in the seat beside him. He noticed that the barista had misspelled his name on the cup. “Last night I happened upon another protest in the near future.”

“I can’t make it,” Courfeyrac said immediately. “My car is still broken and there’s no way I’m driving with Enjolras.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

“It’s taking place at the Champs-Élysées,” Combeferre informed them.

“How ambitious,” Joly remarked, sipping his own coffee.

“Right, so we can easily just walk or take the metro,” Combeferre said. “What do you think Enjolras?”

Enjolras, of course, was spaced out, sipping his caramel soy latte and thinking about talking with Grantaire.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked again.

“Enjolras is dreaming of the stars,” Grantaire called from his table, causing Enjolras to jump and look up.

“What?” he asked, distractedly.

“I asked your opinion about attending the protest at the Champs-Élysées,” Combeferre repeated, softly.

“Oh.” Enjolras tried to gather his thoughts. It was ridiculous how absent-minded he was – he was supposed to be the leader of the revolution, not some love-stricken schoolboy like Marius. This was exactly why he always assumed relationships were a bad idea.

He looked up and locked eyes with Grantaire, who immediately started to blush, taking a sip of wine. He smiled up at Enjolras a real, genuine smile that was just for him and – never mind, relationships were definitely a good idea.

“The protest sounds like it will be very useful, Combeferre.” Enjolras stood up and took his place at the front of the room. “Here are some issues that we should address…”

Enjolras took control of the meeting and together the amis planned their next protest which would occur a week from today. Everyone had unanimously agreed that they needed at least that much time to mentally and emotionally recover from the unfortunate road trip that they’d just narrowly escaped.

As the amis all began to leave and head off to class, Grantaire remained at his table, clearly waiting for Enjolras. He was stricken with nerves. Cleaning up his pamphlets and notes and stuffing them into his bag, he walked over to Grantaire’s table in the corner.

“Hey,” he greeted. Oh my god, why couldn’t he just act normal?

“Hey, Apollo,” Grantaire said, looking up and smiling at Enjolras. Enjolras took a seat at the table and tried to look relaxed.

“You could always call me by my name, you know.”

“I could,” Grantaire said, “but then I wouldn’t get to see that exasperated expression on your face. And it’s so cute, I’d miss it.”

“I’m not _cute_ ,” Enjolras said, his blonde hair tied back in a ribbon, sipping his soy latte.

“Whatever you say.”

“Listen, I wanted to talk,” Enjolras began. Grantaire stiffened, and turned to give Enjolras his full attention. He even put aside the bottle of wine. Great. Enjolras might have better luck if he was drinking that instead of the coffee, but it was too late to go back now. “It’s about our relationship. Well, uh…the future of our relationship.”

Enjolras had been looking at his feet stuttering out the words and hesitantly lifted his eyes to meet Grantaire’s. His face was pale and he looked scared out of his mind.

“Grantaire,” he added quickly – he needed to assert that Grantaire of all people had nothing to be afraid of. “I like you a lot. I want to try and make this work. But you should know that I’m, sort of, not interested in, you know….sex.”

Grantaire blinked at him. Once, twice. He glanced over at the wine, then back at Enjolras.

“Not interested in sex with me?” he asked, clearly hurt.

“Not just with _you_ ,” Enjolras began, but didn’t know what to say. He knew that Grantaire was already insecure and this was probably just making it worse. He should have just sucked it up and done the deed.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Grantaire said, noticing Enjolras’s discomfort, and the way he wouldn’t meet his eye. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Enjolras said, looking up. “Forget I said anything. You’re my boyfriend. Of course, we’re going to have sex.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, and he sounded like he always did whenever he strongly disagreed with whatever Enjolras was saying and really wanted him to know it. “We’re not doing a damn thing that you’re not one hundred percent comfortable with.”

“I…what…really?” Enjolras asked, surprised. “You really don’t mind if I never want to?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated, his voice soft and gentle, “being with you…being allowed to love you in a relationship that isn’t entirely unrequited….it’s enough for me. It’s more than enough. Everything else we’ll work out in time.”

Enjolras couldn’t hide the intense rush of emotion he felt for Grantaire just then. He wanted to jump over the table and kiss him senseless.

“Thank you,” he managed, hoping that his voice conveyed the immense gratitude he felt.

“We can still cuddle, right?” Grantaire asked. His voice was light-hearted and he was smiling. Enjolras wanted to jump into his arms.

“Yes,” he answered, “and kiss.”

“And you’ll tell me if I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable, right?”

“Yes,” Enjolras repeated, a little breathless. Grantaire was so intense about this stuff.

“Good,” Grantaire said. He was looking awestruck at Enjolras. “Because you know I love you. I love you so much, Enjolras. And I want you to be happy with me.”

It’s safe to say that Enjolras was a little overwhelmed. He’d never been in love before, and couldn’t even imagine what Grantaire was feeling. Still, he knew that Grantaire made him feel safe, and warm, and beautiful – certainly that was a good enough start.


End file.
